Oooofff. I'm at that stage of tiredness that I'm nauseous and shaky, hungry and confused all at once. After wandering around Manchester looking for my hostel, I checked in, washed up and - finally! - laid down (smacking my head on the ceiling in the process. Damn bunk beds.) for a bit. But only for a bit, because the hostel staff burst in and declared that I was lying on a dirty bed and that I had to move. Then they took off all the sheets and disappeared. Hmmmph. I should probably go out and do something anyway. Maybe I'll take the tram over to Old Trafford and see if I can get on a tour.
Oh yes, I peaked out the window of my room to find: a kebab/pizza/burger joint attached to a XXX adult store attached to what appears to be a club - based on the DJ equipment visible in the window - that has two doors without handles or knobs. How does one get in? Then I watched a bus driver read the paper over the steering wheel while breezing through the intersection.
I guess the point of this post is to say that I'm officially in Manchester, but too tired to make much sense.
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