Contrary to the nature of the sociopathic crackhead you are, you carefully inspect the sign, noticing a corner of it starting to peel up. You grasp the corner of the gluey plastic sign between your thumb and forefinger and pull it off as quickly as if you were pulling a bandaid off one of your many track marks.
Under the shoddy plastic glued-on sign is a brass plate bearing the inscription "Kingmaker Association".
You scratch your head, stumped — was that a flea? no, maybe lice — and grab the door handle decisively.
Immediately, all hell breaks loose.
Two men in black outfits closely resembling pajamas descend on you from the windows overlooking the street. You fall to the ground, dazed and utterly confused. Without your fix this morning, your brain is running at 20% capacity — which is a major downgrade over the usual drug-induced 40% capacity. This is all a little too much at this time of day, really!
The two men pin you to the ground. One has several small, metallic objects in the shape of stars with razor-sharp edges strapped around his belt. The other has a set of two short, thick wooden sticks attached with a heavy chain between them in each hand, twirling incessantly.
The man with the shiny objects as his belt leans over you and says: