The ginnel is cold and dark. Sole illumination comes from the old streetlight above, obscured by a dense pine. All within the tight space, hemmed in by the high wood fences, is manifested by the muted orange light.
A figure stands at the other end of the ginnel, wearing a long coat. Its head is bowed. Its hands concealed by darkness. There is no way around it. You must pass through, or remain here.
Paddy Dobson
16th December 2020