After hours on Caledonian Road

The court doesn’t open. The court is opened — by whoever shows up first with a key, a brush and a phone speaker. That’s the deal on Caledonian Road, and it’s been the deal since long before anyone called this a scene.

A night, in three chapters

A photo essay shot across four nights between February and April. Names are kept light on purpose; this isn’t a feature on individuals. It’s a feature on a place, and the people who choose to keep returning to it.

“We don’t run the court. The court runs us.”