Early stroll. Lights on the old pit stack. I imagine that carpet of fallen leaves as a difficult jigsaw. A puddle the colour of printer ink. The horse and the cockerel as Vladimir and Estragon. Resting excavators.

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Things are going bump in the night here at the People's this week in spooky stage phenomenon 2:22 - A GHOST STORY 👻 📅 until Saturday 24th 🎟 Tickets available Book online #LinkInBio, or on the door in person from 6.30pm 📷 Paul Hood

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Early stroll. A breeze ruffles a tree’s hair. The cemetery gates are open, waiting. Puddles as mirrors. Rain’s monotonous anecdotes. Tyresplash sonatas.

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Early stroll. A distant motorbike at the very edge of audibility. A winding trail of fallen leaves. The neon language of the tanning shop. Those Belisha beacons blink endlessly at each other. I saw that dropped pencil on Friday.

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Early stroll. Fallen rain gleams on fallen leaves. A man’s face is illuminated by the big telly he’s watching. A hooded lad cycles by. A silent ambulance outside a bright house. A skeleton dinosaur by the dentist’s door.

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