Standing outside the Black Friar pub, a jewel of art nouveau amidst the rush of Blackfriars Road, one might understand Richard Mayhew’s initial disorientation. The pub, a riot of gleaming marble and intricate mosaics depicting monks in various states of revelry, feels utterly out of sync with the mundane world surrounding it, a feeling akin to Richard’s first glimpse into London Below. Its very existence, so brazenly fantastical and unexpected, mirrors the way London Below hides in plain sight, just beyond the notice of ordinary Londoners. A visitor, knowing Neverwhere, might find themselves scrutinizing the shadows and corners of the pub, half-expecting to see Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar lurking, or to overhear whispers of the Angel Islington. The Black Friar becomes not just a pub, but a potential portal, a place where the improbable could, just possibly, become real.