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London Myths

He pushed his shaky hand against his forehead.

The hard palm smudged the wet hair strands, separating and plastering themselves to his slippery cold skin in a floppy straw like mass…
he stopped.
A phosphorous gold glow permeated the ozone
around London Bridge and across to Tooley Street.

Blackened air permeated his soul.

In the swirling drizzle, long silver sparks of rain bounced off the train carriage roofs thundering overhead, morose in their cumbersome burden…
Ka-chung.. ka-chung..ka-chung.
There he stood, in sodden trainers; the tips of his socks tingling as moisture seeped in around the toe seam.
Ka-chung..ka-chung..
The discordant screeches of shuddering carriages echoed as they jerked afloat their wet steel lines; swerving,swaying ..
Ka-chung..ka-chung.

While he stood there, he gazed up at the time-smoked brickwork vaulting above him in the archway;
a sudden sensation of velocity seared through him and brought him to stand taut and expectant of something to pass.
In a nanosecond,the mauve and scarlet bruised sky lurching into view along the rim of archway edging above him,
seemed a vision of dark, forbidden splendour;
as dense as sea; swirling, formidable, awe-inspiring in its sheer tidal volume..

it thrilled him so violently, he shuddered.

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