CHEETHAM HILL ROAD 6.06AM
I was house sitting for a friend in the south of the city, and he’d kindly lent me his car to use whilst he was away. It’s a lovely car. Big, white as an American’s teeth and full of fancy features that somewhat confuse me. I felt like a pimp as I parked it down a side road just off Cheetham Hill Road.
I’d seen the picture I wanted to take a few days beforehand. It was from a garage forecourt towards the high rise estate that calls itself the Green Quarter, which I’d recently described as architecturally grey and bullying. I stood and waited for dawn to begin. Lights in the apartments started to come on as people got up to go to work, and I forced myself to not stare into the private lives casually shared with the streets below.
Across the road a car dealership was offering half price fireworks, and a man waited at a bus stop, staring at his feet as if unsure as to what they were for. I took my photograph of the jet wash machine, set against the square building blocks, and the design on its front reminded me of the kind of thing Pixar would turn into a loveable robot.
I went into the shop to thank the owner, Mike, and asked him if he was on the internet so that I could show him the image I’d made. He shook his head. Outside a taxi had occupied the space where I’d just been, and the driver was vigorously cleaning his vehicle. The street lights went off and an odd pink light, like we were on Venus, engulfed us for a few seconds before a rainbow appeared over the tower at Strangeways.
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