It wasn't as grand as you expected it to be. It was, after all, on a street called Grand, so you expected something a little more, opulent. There was nothing wrong with it, it just wasn't what you were expecting.
Standing at four stories tall, you could almost hear the clatter of newsboys as they got ready for the day. In fact, you could hear the sounds of newsboys.
"What're you standin' around here for?" came a voice, and you whirled around.
He was tall, lean, and blatantly Italian. Though you supposed that most people in Little Italy would be such.
After a second of you blinking, he sighed, shook his head, and gestured for you to come inside. You followed him, his long, confident strides making it hard for you to catch up with him. As you entered the door, you saw a girl blush and giggle at the boy, who winked and waved back before gesturing you upstairs.
"First floor a'int for us," he explained, leading you to a desk situated in the corner of the second floor landing.
"I'm Shane. People call me Shane, no nickname needed, ya know? I'm the leader of the Grand Street newsboys, and I would definitely 'preciate it if you didn't cross me, capisci? My second, Matthew, should be here somewhere, but he might still be sellin', I don't know for sure.
"We're the only newsboys from the Grand that don't have nicknames. So you better think of one quick, yeah?"
He shrugged and shook his head, looking at you up and down.
"Though I can think of a few that might suit you well enough.
"Anyways, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Mr. Marcetta, our landlord. As he a'int busy, and I am, he'll be the one showin' you around. See you around, if you stay."
Mr. Marcetta, a man in his early 40s, walked up to you after harassing Shane to sign in.
"First off, I would like to tell you about the lodging house, itself."