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  • A normal day in London town.

    Trains are delayed. Commuters are squeezed and emerge, sweaty and jostled, at their destination. That blank look, that careful not-sharing with others, that mindless shuffle from platform to stairs in a great surge of bodies. That coreography of tightly packed flesh and army drilled footwork. Woe you, should you be heading the wrong way!

    I've just flown in for the day and suddenly see this all as an outsider. I used to be part of these masses. I used to wander about in a daydream, tired and numb, giving my all to a career that dehumanised me, a company that sucked me dry. It fills me with sadness - the drabness, the greyness, the automatic gestures. The buzz and energy of London seems manic and pointless at this time of day.

    In the evening, as I headed home, it occured to me that I had not taken in a deep breath of fresh air all day...

    I admire you, Leilani, for writing so poetically about London. I think I am getting too old for that city.
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