Let’s start with the moment nobody talks about: When someone flies into St. Louis, they look out the window, walk the concourse, step outside, and register something they can’t quite articulate. Not danger. Vacancy. The silence between footsteps. The space between buildings. The absence of pedestrians where a city should hum. That first impression keeps widening as they move along the highway, through the hotel lobby, down the block. The quiet isn’t catastrophic. It’s uncertain. Before...