This arc of a street lamp gives way to the darkest dreams. The air feels like frost and you can smell the solitude.the salt, the mud, the decaying timbers. Trace through the industrial estate, you come upon the riverthe mud skins out to the waters edge. You see the cold hard steel of the bridge, closed off with corrugated iron and at the side, almost hidden the sign printing acrossRAIN SPELLS! Where does it go? WHO CARES!