by Sean Gregson

He’s a boy, running through the disused bomb-shelters and tunnels that run below the length of Manchester. He jumps, twists and howls; he picks up a bottle and throws it at the ceiling. He has a stick which he runs along the walls, sometimes tapping out a rhythm on the doors which break up the brick monotony. Finally, he comes to a red door, huge and intimidating; his little hand can hardly wrap itself around the handle, he struggles but it won’t turn. Now, he’s an old man, a loner, walking back down unchanged tunnels of brick and mortar. Curiosity finally has the better of him.


Sean Gregson used to live in Manchester. Now he doesn't. He lives in Norwich. He stands by his decision.