Day one

The day was fine until I reached the ring road and it rained. I waited in the underpass for the weather to break. There was a human tooth by my foot.

The ring road cuts the centre away from the rest of the city like a garotte. There are no crossings above ground and in the tunnel the sour and salty smell of piss is as immediate as my perception of the blood on the beige tiles in the fluorescent light.

Past the ring road the city centre is buffered by office blocks that could be occupied or not. There is a large concrete building with no windows and a pathetic retail park with only two shops. Then, The Moor.

Walking up The Moor is like being a man left behind in the vale of tears. The pedestrianised street is typical of tatty post-war British shopping precincts. Its austerity is fitting for the world we are living in. As I step to avoid a sausage roll on the ground, I see a busker dancing with the unrestrained movements of a dog driving a bus. This is the southern gateway into the proud city of Sheffield. It feels like both my past and my future.