Box of Rain

THIS IS NOT MINE

Manchester, UK (December 1977 - January 1978)

Manchester in the 1970's can't be described as anything other than bleak. The place is desolate and grim, as if God had forgotten it after the war. That is, if He does in fact exist. Because if there's one city in England that would make you doubt a higher being, that would be Manchester.

It's a hard place to survive. The post industrial slum housings are grey and covered with century old soot. Victorian constructions hide under grime, but no one minds enough to scrape it off. The sense of deprivation, towering dereliction, is overpowering. There's ugliness everywhere you look.

From his window Louis can witness crimes in broad daylight: vandalism, pickpocketing, joy riding, arson. He's lucky when he only gets to watch from the 4th floor instead of being a victim himself. To be fair, it's been a while since he was last picked, given his fame in the neighbourhood these days.

In Hulme, the shabby area where Louis lives, people feed more on gossip than food. So much for that, it's came as a surprise that his secret lasted more than a year.He suspects Mrs. Hughes was the bigmouth who broke it to the neighbours because he stupidly dropped his bag with all of his gear in front of her last March.

It isn't even much of a secret, and people have quite a callous disregard for illicit activities around here, but Louis assumed it would be if only wise to keep his mouth shut about being an illegal boxer.

The story behind how he became a boxer is a very simple one: when you're surrounded by misery and hopelessness the slightest glimpse of light at the end of a tunnel seems like a ticket to Shangri-La.

When someone catches you beating the shit out of a bicycle thief and that someone looks at you like you're the next Messiah... well, there's something flattering about it.

When the man, eyes still glistening madly in intention, declared: "You're the next Muhammad Ali, my son!" Louis couldn't help but be hooked.

Simon Cowell, that's his name, showered Louis with praises and gave him his grimy business card saying: "You've got a talent for boxing, I can tell. Why don't you visit our training centre whenever you're free?"

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Cross my heart," Simon said then, watching as the scumbag who's mug Louis had been punching crawled away defeated, his face just a gory and bloody mask contrasting wildly with the grey scenery. "You laid him out good, didn't you?"

"He was stealing me bicycle. An eye for an eye..."