I watch the Elliott Smith documentary and leave the cinema
feeling crumpled and happysad as expected. Everything seems so long ago now. When
I get out onto the street the light has become incredible. The pavement is full
of people not walking but taking photographs of the tops of the buildings which
are visible in incredible detail in the hour before sunset. I play ‘Needle in
the Hay’ and take the Whitworth Street/Piccadilly/Back Piccadilly route to the
Northern Quarter to fetch my bike which I left there three days ago. My battery
goes and ‘Needle’ cuts out before the chorus. When I get to my bike the removable
squishy seat which I should have removed has been removed and so has the front
wheel. I’m not upset. I found him in the basement of my old building, we’ve had
a good innings, someone might ride him again soon. I take my D-lock at least which is
worth more than the bike and walk to get the tram with my headphones still on, playing nothing. A gorgeous girl in a hijab is taking a ton of selfies at the
stop. Someone Tweets: ‘Please
someone take me for a beer in the sun’. A group of Spanish people are photographing
a lad who is holding onto the back of a tram and being pulled along on his skateboard.
Just before Cornbrook, the saddest place in the world, the astonishing sun rests
in a gas tower on the horizon just for a second.
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