People in London are like people in New York
Slim and purposeful but sadder, enveloped in grey
Young men bear the look of looking down not forward
Dour nannies walk pushchairs with worried faces
A gaggle of made up teenagers outside Starbucks
Emanate a billowing cloud of scent, spirited but shy
There is not quite enough rain to put up my umbrella
Days and nights mercilessly fade into each other
A warm yoga session blossoms like a tropical oasis
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