Running Late

I’m running late.

On Aldersgate Street a photographer is shooting a ballet dancer who is pirouetting in the middle of the road. Behind her, the sloping brick rotunda of the Museum of London reminds me that they house the dried, exhumed remains of ancient Londoners there.

At the junction with Little Britain a woman in a striped skirt crosses towards me and smiles. She looks like one of the Arquette sisters. I don’t remember which one.

I get stuck behind a group of Mexican girls pointing at the dome of St. Paul’s. It seems the tourist season has already begun.

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