[ WP ] `` The girl who slept on the catwalks above the flea market ''

Swinging in the bitter evening wind in the catwalks of Leicester Market, above tangles of wire and bundles of fusty smelling pet food, hangs a tiny hammock mackled together from a pair of old, brown, corduroy trousers. One of the legs hangs over a rusted steel and concrete beam, tied at the ankle to the other leg, which is tightly stuffed with dirty fleece and baby bottles. 
 
 Perched next to the hammock, a woman. No, a girl. Nearly a woman. Wearing tattered motorcycle trousers and a thick checked shirt buttoned over a food stained pink jumper, she clings to the beam with one hand, and in the other, oh in the other is a baby. Glaring angrily around, the girl wraps the baby from the feet up, round and round until it is confined entirely within the swaddle. Then come the fleeces. Fold, wrap. Fold, wrap. And finally, so carefully, into the hammock. 
 
 The baby's gentle whimpers of irritation turn to full blown screams of rage, and the girls sets the hammock swinging. Twining her dirty foot around the corduroy, she keeps the hammock swaying to and fro, to and fro, and she leans back gingerly against the crumbling plaster wall. As the baby quiets, the girl's eyes flicker and close, and another day is done.
