Sowerby Bridge Off-Licence

Fluorescent lights buzz over narrow aisles stocked with bottles in this unremarkable Sowerby Bridge shop. Tommy, stiff in Brett's baggy clothes, grabs two whiskies from the shelf and pays at the scarred counter, his pulse racing as the clerk rings up the sale without a second glance. Shoppers browse nearby, their chatter and rustle of bags masking the killer's quiet resupply amid the street's oblivious hum—a stark refuge where banality shields his desperation.