Idle on a Saturday night for the first time in ages, I went for a long walk around Manchester city centre. Along the way, I recorded snippets of what I encountered, each a fleeting detail or a tantalising glimpse of a bigger story that you’ll have to make up yourself.
Here are my ambulatory scribblings:
A young Chinese lady sobs uncontrollably outside a hotel, while a young man stands opposite, his hands hovering, unsure whether to commit to holding her.
A seagull, lost, flies down Market Street, window-shopping.
A young couple seated outside an Italian trattoria. They gaze longingly at each other's food, he in an outfit too daring for it to be a first date.
An unseen coin falls noisily to the ground; no one stops.
A fire engine crawls cautiously past a vape shop 'open 'til late'.
A young bearded man sits slumped on a bench, legs blood red from a day of sun, and two white bands peeping out of his shorts.
Ghosts dine free of charge at a now closed coffee shop.
The last of the light catches on rippling waves, the canal an old television set with poor reception.
Canadian geese glide silently by, only one interested in my presence enough to turn its coat hanger neck.
A man in a dress stands mid-pavement; he is wearing a handbag so garish it dares the world to think.
Giant boulders rest before a church, God playing marbles around his flock.
A theatre in darkness and an echo of the last clap.
Here are my ambulatory scribblings:
A young Chinese lady sobs uncontrollably outside a hotel, while a young man stands opposite, his hands hovering, unsure whether to commit to holding her.
A seagull, lost, flies down Market Street, window-shopping.
A young couple seated outside an Italian trattoria. They gaze longingly at each other's food, he in an outfit too daring for it to be a first date.
An unseen coin falls noisily to the ground; no one stops.
A fire engine crawls cautiously past a vape shop 'open 'til late'.
A young bearded man sits slumped on a bench, legs blood red from a day of sun, and two white bands peeping out of his shorts.
Ghosts dine free of charge at a now closed coffee shop.
The last of the light catches on rippling waves, the canal an old television set with poor reception.
Canadian geese glide silently by, only one interested in my presence enough to turn its coat hanger neck.
A man in a dress stands mid-pavement; he is wearing a handbag so garish it dares the world to think.
Giant boulders rest before a church, God playing marbles around his flock.
A theatre in darkness and an echo of the last clap.
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