A vile, toxic stench rises from the junkyard at the edge of town, here more than anywhere else. The odor is a nauseating combination of rotting flesh and dizzying chemicals, the telltale signs of a tannery. A small ramshackle establishment sits at the junkyard's edge, outside of which hang all manner of hides curing in the sun or simply laid out for display. Flies buzz in the air out back as a hired hand renders skinless corpses into meat to be sold at the market. In the shaded area out front a few primitive folk admire the skins and barter with the robed owner for a good price.
The gentleman known locally as "Skinner" runs a simple establishment dealing in furs and pelts, both rare and mundane alike. Popular among tribal folk from the neighboring badlands, his small business built near the edge of town sees a lot of visitors, mostly from folk venturing in from the desert to sell off skins taken from animal predators (or livestock their tribes cultivate for a livelihood). Skinner's has since become something of a gathering place for tribesmen eager to make some coin before moving deeper into the ruins to spend said cash in the city's ribald drinking holes.
Skinner has been wildly successful, finding numerous customers in the city who are willing to pay top dollar for exotic hides, as well as hunters and scavs willing to haul strange carcasses dozens of miles just to sell their skins at his shop. Despite having a shop that reeks of the smell of death (an unavoidable part of the business), Skinner has managed to make himself important to the local economy, turning a tidy profit while also serving as a link between the area's wilderness dwellers and their counterparts living in the urban ruins.