iv. This time of morning is presided over by an inspectorate of gulls, far more so than it is by the sun, which is yet to reach Bashful Alley, though the black graffiti tag high on the side wall of the Oldbell coffee house keeps eager watch over the rooftops, and higher still there’s a twinkle in the orange mesh around scaffolding where they’re reinforcing the mullioned windows above the Market Street entry, where it’s always night. The dawn is perceptible too in raindrops hanging from petals in the coffee house’s hanging baskets. Bashful Alley honours every increment of new morning it is offered, but, in the King Street entry, it is never day; in the Market Street entry, it will always be night. Dinesh Allirajah |