The age of the fallen beast

Previously

…As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the bewildered cityscape, a peculiar sight unfolded. In the window of a dimly lit, slightly seedy bar, a single Velociraptor, wearing a tiny, ill-fitting apron, was meticulously wiping down the counter. Another, perched precariously on a stool, was attempting to shake a cocktail with far too much enthusiasm, sending ice cubes skittering across the floor. The age of the fallen beast had ended, not with a bang, but with a whimper, and a surprising number of surprisingly efficient, if slightly clumsy, dinosaur baristas. The world, it seemed, was ready to try and make sense of the new normal, one confused dinosaur at a time.