It is early morning as the sun tries to battle its way through the clouds, only to be defeated and pressed back by a large expanse of grey. Each grey cloud drifts slowly and connects to the next leaving not a single patch of blue sky.

A single raindrop forms and drips downwards; the street is so deathly quiet that the drip echoes for miles. This is the time of silence, the time between the enchantment of midnight and the buzz of life. The raindrop rolls down the curb and into the drain with a tiny plop. It is soon followed by thousands of other droplets thundering down. The hammering of the rain intensifies and soon each droplet is springing from roofs and pavements before dripping down to the drain. A small river flows by the side of the curb, making its way to its destination. Water streams down the glass and the old, dirty brickwork, yet no human sees it happen.

A dirty stray dog wanders the street looking for food or maybe just a friendly face. Its coat is matted and dripping with water and it has several bald patches. Its eyes are dark and sunken; it hasn't eaten for days, maybe even weeks. It sniffs each corner and crevice for the tiniest morsel of food, but finds nothing. Its tail droops as it pads along the cold, wet pavement. It turns the corner into the next street and is gone.

The rain begins to calm, but the grey clouds persist with their war against the sunshine. As the last droplet of water falls, the sun bursts through and shines in triumph before the cloud once more smothers it.

A bird flies down and picks at the pieces of stale bread in someone's back yard. Looking upwards, all it can see is four dirty walls and a rusted old cooker. The backyard seems a creepy place and so, it fills itself before tearing away. Up, up over the wall before soaring high over the houses.

A loud rattle and a roar can be heard as the first bus of the day passes by. The bus is empty and lonely right now, but will soon be filled with the chatter of people and the smell of cigarettes.

The people begin to stir as babies begin to cry and lavatories begin to flush. The street begins to awaken as the milk float rides carefully through the street. The milkman whistles as he unloads his crate and places the cool glass bottles by each door. Once finished his job, he climbs back up into his van and slowly turns the corner.

The rattle of letterboxes reverberates around the street as the paperboy delivers his wares. The rest of the world cannot hear the thumping rock anthem that fills his brain from the personal CD player. He shivers from the cold and fastens up his jacket, staring at the ground as he strides confidently away.