Brydges Place; Like walking through to another world. The entrance is only 15 inches wide, and leads into a narrow ginnel with steam seeping from the walls. After 20 feet or so it opens up into a little courtyard with tables and chairs belonging to the pub The Marquis of Granby, which has a door backing into the alley. There is only a narrow slit of sky to be seen between the two buildings that make up the walls of the alley. The strip is bruised with blue blacks and brown yellows, fracked by spikes of lightning. There is no rain yet but it feels as if the moisture is already held suspended in the air. There is a small busking band made up of accordion, double bass and hi-hat. They are all dressed in black waistcoats with white shirts, black trousers and black hats. A bowler, a fez and beret worn Rasta style on the back of the head. A pavement artist is just packing away her chalks. Her face is not visible due to the black keffiyeh. She has on black Moroccan trousers, silver DM’s and a grandfather shirt. As she walks away she drops some notes into the busker’s accordion case. The pavement drawing is of a group of gang boys, in their uniform of hoods, drop crotch trousers and phones, dead and laid out in a row. Next to them is drawn a wheelbarrow full of drugs, knives, guns and crack pipes. Underneath the picture is written ‘boys and their toys’. Above the picture is written ‘Tuesday Calling”

After a few moments the sky gives up, and a hot rain begins to fall, little bombs of acid that melt the picture of its clarity until it is just colour with no meaning.