Pitt Street garage.

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Leith.
Crow black skies bring the threat of rain. The wind hustles fallen leaves and a tramped on can of Irn Bru along the street. Sitting on a bench at the ‘fit o’ the walk’ I meet an elderly woman. She tells me she stays in sheltered housing along the way but used to stay in flats by Leith Links. Drug dealers lived in the flat above hers and sometimes the addresses would get confused and she would get unwelcome visitors. She says she would open her door and say ‘….this is the brothel, the drugs are upstairs.’ I laugh. So does she. Pigeons huddle in the lee of a tenement roof. The woman tells me she is waiting for her friend to arrive. ‘She’ll be wearing her slippers. She says they’re boots, but they’re not, they’re slippers. Indoor slippers.’ A man begs for money for his children, a woman shouts ‘… Let me tell ‘you’ something….’, again and again until I can no longer hear. I continue my walk. It starts to rain.

 

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