Leaving a wee kids’ bike in front of a decaying warehouse on an industrial estate just as the sun sets behind it, to me, is like the proverbial van full of sweets. After deviating from my route back from the gym to take a photo, I’m surprised I’m not in some basement with my face on a milk carton right now.

A small purple and white child’s bicycle stands alone in front of a large, old stone industrial building with a blue metal roller door. The concrete yard is empty except for scattered debris and a puddle near the street in the foreground.