The girl in the red duffle coat is on her way to art college. It's her first day and a new autumn is in the air (first leaves turning red; starlings scattering with the energy).

"I can do anything I want to do," says the girl in the red duffle coat as she walks beneath the crumbling shop fronts (rotten wood eeks out; centuries of musty dust, delicious).

It's ancient here in this city, beneath the cathedral bells and brewing houses. It's ancient here and the energy rises up as the girl in the red duffle coat takes her seat in the classroom: a converted warehouse, thick with the smell of old stone and chemical inks; resonant with the sound of rolling presses, the clank and clang of cogs and wheels, of metal tools and paper sheets; processes, notebooks, ideas and dreams all here, in this magic darkroom.

"I can do anything I want to do," says the girl in the red duffle coat with a whirr of excitement in her belly and a shining outwards from her heart.