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But it's Thursday, the alarm clock rang and a nightingale squawked down in Hoxton Square. A jump start to the day to which I will pay a price. Eyes still feeling sleep gritty and moving tepidly through the brown streets of the city I stop for a tea in the Mozart cafe. Moving on with the song that plays on inside me I make my way to the Temple though hardly to pray Charing Cross that way, Trafalgar no battles just the rattle of a tin can the beggar man always sits there. Leicester Square, tackier that Hoxton but riches that hide behind casino doors. Chinatown more brown streets authentic cooking where East meets the West I do my best and that's as good as it gets or as good at it is on Thursday.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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