Rush City Tourist Board
Welcome to Rush City: one river, several hills, fourteen districts and an avenue that has not moved since it was built. Population: questionable. Parking: impossible. Enjoy your stay, mind the benches, and please return the car you arrived in.
Rush City · 3D
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Districts
Cobbles, lanes and lost keys.
The old lower town by the river, where the street names are refreshingly honest. Pothole Lane has potholes. Lost Keys Lane has your keys. Honk Street is exactly as loud as advertised. Velvet runs the shops after dark, so be charming.
Promenade, pigeons, piers.
Rush City’s front porch: a granite promenade, Pigeon Plaza, a pier that lives up to its name and a bridge the gulls consider theirs. The casino is here too, right by the water, in case anyone needs to cool off afterwards.
Bells, views and a very steep walk.
Up the hill from the river: a park with the best free view in town, a church on the edge of a cliff and the Seven Bells Monastery, which counts its bells every morning and always gets seven. Bring good shoes, or a car with a confident second gear.
Where it all starts, with coffee.
The old upper town: Anton’s Coffee (decaf? no), the Old Gate, and Late Clock Street, whose clock has been late since it was installed. So have the buses. This is where Alex’s story begins, one espresso on credit at a time.
The avenue that never moves.
The grand avenue down the valley, lined with chestnut trees and permanently jammed. City Hall, Selfie Square, Haggle Square and the Bargain Hall all sit along it. Radio DJs swear it flows after midnight. Nobody has checked.
Fountains, a column and a lot of ribbon.
The city’s main square: the Dawn Column, more fountains than strictly necessary and the best street food in town. Mayor Bradley Pomp has opened these fountains three times. They are, at this point, extremely open.
Glass, money and a very good view.
Glass towers, a business centre, the police station and the Arch of Light framing the river. The Rush Exchange trades here and the car dealer sells here. Rent goes up every time it rains. It rains a lot.
Poplars, poets and one red university.
A leafy boulevard with the Red Hall university, the Blue Cathedral and Poets’ Park, where somebody always leaves a book on a bench. The quietest district in Rush City, right up until you drive through it.
Broad by name, busy by nature.
The long avenue south from the centre, with Puddle Street, Bench Garden and the red-brick Broad Street Chapel. Wide lanes, long straights, very few excuses. The city’s favourite place to find out what your car can really do.
Match day, every day. Almost.
Home of the Rush City Pigeons, who play at home three matches in four. On match days the streets fill with fans, the shops fill with money and the Park & Pray car park fills with prayers. The stadium itself is for sale. Bring tens of millions.
Under construction, beautifully.
A big square with a metro station, a car wash and the Wave Mall site, where the city’s newest mall goes up during the story, one delay at a time. Wave Residences phase two is coming eventually. Most things here are coming eventually.
Panel blocks and big hearts.
Tall panel blocks, courtyards with real arches you can drive through, and the people who keep the city running. Rita’s garage will respray your car when the police get too attached to its colour. Velvet keeps an eye on the shops.
Rust, rumble and one army tank.
Warehouses, truck yards, the impound and an army depot with a tank inside, guarded by soldiers who take that personally. The Yard gang runs these streets. DRIFT 106.6 says the tandem crowd meets here at 3 a.m., until the blue lights show up.
Authorised vehicles only.
Rush City’s cargo port: gantry cranes, container stacks, a feeder ship and the brick office of Dockside Shipping. Fully built, firmly locked. The gate on Embankment Road opens when the story brings Alex to the docks. Until then, admire the cranes.
Landmarks
The grand old river station on Pigeon Plaza, from back when ferries left on time. Its doors open onto the promenade and the Long Wait Pier.
A timber pier from the Pier Terminal out to the ferry berth. The name is not a warning. It is a timetable.
The ice-cream cart at the very end of the Long Wait Pier. The gulls have read the sign. The gulls do not care.
Finger piers, an office and two counters: Knot Your Boat Hire and Bilge & Sons Boat Sales. Dry socks are the goal, not the guarantee.
A booth and a pier west of Gull Bridge, home of the police launches. They never shoot from the boat. They just follow you. Closely.
The pedestrian bridge to Sandy Island, named after its most permanent residents, who treat every sandwich as a toll.
A beach across the river, over Gull Bridge. Spiritual home of SANDY ISLAND 96.6, where the forecast is always sunny and nobody is in a hurry.
The steep park on the slopes above the embankment. Named by the first person who tried to jog up it.
A giant arch on the slope above the river. Everyone photographs it. VOLTAGE energy drink lists climbing it as a side effect.
Seven golden domes and a bell tower on Green Hill, with a metro station on its square. The monastery requests quiet. BELL TOWER 90.3 plays its overture anyway.
A hilltop park with the best free view in Rush City. Benches included. Breath not included.
A church perched right on the edge, above Winding Hill. Lovely views, steep drop, ideal for dramatic phone calls.
The ancient city gate in its own garden, a few streets from Anton’s kiosk. It has outlasted every invader. The roadworks are still trying.
Anton’s kiosk on Tower Street. Espresso 2.50, The Anton 4, decaf: no. Where Alex’s story begins, on credit.
The tall column over Fountain Square. Meeting point for dates, selfies and the mayor’s ribbon-cuttings.
The old market hall on Haggle Square, at the foot of Chestnut Avenue. Everything has a price. Everything is negotiable, especially the price.
Three glass towers: Ticker Tape House (the Rush Exchange), the Glass Tower (Floor 42, The Keyhole) and Paper Clip Plaza (the car dealer). Office floors from $420,000.
The university’s famous red building on Poplar Boulevard. Lectures, a coffee window and a café regular who knows a sergeant.
A leafy park with a monument and a lot of benches. Somebody always leaves a book on one. Nobody has ever finished it.
Cream walls, one gilded dome and six starry blue ones on Poplar Boulevard. Quiet, grand and unfairly photogenic at golden hour.
A red-brick Gothic chapel on Broad Street. Its quiet churchyard turns up in the story a lot more than a churchyard should.
The giant stadium of the Rush City Pigeons. A match day comes round every 23 minutes of play, and the whole thing is for sale: $40,000,000.
The mall with WAVE on the roof, built in six stages during the story. Eight floors of things you don’t need, according to its own radio ad.
Cranes, containers, barges and a feeder ship, run by Dockside Shipping from a brick office by the gate. Built, busy-looking, and locked until the story opens it.
Street plates
Named after its main attraction. The council prefers the word “character”.
Every key ever lost in Rush City ends up here. Yours too. Probably.
The road you take when the road you wanted is closed. It is always closed.
Park here for a quick lesson in how fast tow trucks really are.
A quiet old-town lane. Even the traffic dozes off here.
The clock has been late since it was installed. So have the buses.
Here a horn is not a warning. It is a greeting.
Shops with character, prices with altitude. Window-shopping is also overpriced.
First gear is a suggestion. Third gear is a fantasy.
It does not need to rain. The puddles are permanent residents.
The cobbled descent below Cliffside Church. Every bend is a hairpin; every hairpin is a drift.
Next to Seven Bells Monastery. You will hear all seven, whether you like it or not.
Home of Anton’s kiosk, and of the most expensive minute of parking in town.
The grand avenue. Permanently jammed. The chestnut trees have seen things.
Opened by the mayor three times. The fountains are very open now.
No plate. On the embankment, owned outright by pigeons. Humans may visit.
No plate. Nobody has ever left it without taking a photo.
No plate. Outside the Bargain Hall, where the asking price is just an opening statement.
No plate. More benches than trees. Sit. Stay a while.
No plate. An old-town courtyard where everyone already knows what you did.
