The Outer wall is a barrier against the dangers from outside the city. In its shadows is another barrier, one from hope, comfort, and warmth.
Sky street (and the blocks around it) are odd. The shadows are darker. The air is damper. The mood is bleak and errie. The street is silent, all the noise muted somehow. However, you can always seem to hear someone crying.
Everyone has to live and work somewhere.
The street is wide, and smoothly paved, with trees planted along the sides. The houses are mansions and palaces, each surrounded by stone and ironwork walls that are as much decorative as they are protective. These are the summer homes of the Princesses, and ladies of privelage.
There are those as rich as kings but dress as peasants and worry not about funding. To visit their true homes one would see wealth of untold value scattered as dirt is in a hut. They know the monetary value of their possessions but they have long lost any true value to their owners. Experience is their currency and their curse. They dispense secrets of the ages as if discussing the weather. Few things have they not experienced so that very little gives them joy. They are the lost ones looking for new life while humoring the mortals around them.