I walked down King Street every day. It is always busy, it’s light airy and alive. The towering sandstone buildings stand like benevolent guards between you and the rest of the city. Running parallel to it is Albion Road. It is grey empty and always dark. Between them is an alley. It is black as night even in daylight. I don’t want to go through, there’s always a man halfway down holding a match illuminating his twisted, broken grin. Today I had to, today I walked down, he raised the match to his lips and blew. It went black.