LITTLE LEVER STREET, 6.50 AM
The buildings clustered around Little Lever Street allow very little of the dawn light to touch their walls. The street lamps stay on longer here, straining to fill shadowed doorways with some kind of light, and it feels as if the ghosts of old Mancunia blend with the scent of rubbish that drifts along back streets not yet deemed worthy by the gentrifiers of the Northern Quarter.
Above could be seen the Travelodge on Great Ancoats street, beloved of stag and hen parties who come to the area for the promise of a night never to be forgotten. Its glowing logo was already part of the sharp, blue sky glimpsed beyond these rooftops.
A refuse truck arrived and blocked the street, bringing a rare sense of drama to the space as pulled industrial bins rumbled across exposed cobbles and orange lights flashed around the old walls like it was a cheap disco. Gary, the driver told me that they were still partying in Stevenson Square, even though it was beyond 6.30am.
A car filled with young lads, came into the street, their heads nodding to a deep beat emanating from inside the vehicle. They looked up at the old storehouses and offices as if they were on a fairground ride, shrugged their shoulders and reversed back out, leaving a quietness I’d once noticed in a rest home after the TV had been turned off.
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