The plains of America are asphalt and pavement. Its forests are telephone poles and traffic lights. Its mountains are glass and steel, and have names like Empire State, Chrystler, and Transamerica. Its blood is currency, and its heart is media. But its soul is the people, and some people still believe in a world that exists anywhere but where they are now.

Where imagination bears witness to heroes and fills the shadows with unspeakable things. Where currents of dreams fill seas, where the moon has its own light. Where man can walk alongside gods.

One of these places is in San Francisco Chinatown. Not many people know about it—because not many people realize it. It’s not unique, insofar as the spiritual stock. After all, it takes a lot to cross an ocean to a place that stands an entire world apart to try and make a life. It takes faith, and the people who built their lives there brought it with them. It’s why it’s still standing, after earthquakes and citywide fires tried to take it. Faith can make for the sturdiest of foundations.