Dear London, 

It’s as if Piccadilly has switched off its screens.

As if all flesh has worn out in Soho.

As if the shopping in Portobello do not burn wallets anymore.

As if there were no lighters in Camden.

As if Sheperd Bush peddler has extinguished his incense.

As if all the mugs were broken to forbid us to drink a pint.

As if every bench is occupied by an invisible threat.

As if Greenwich meridian measures where the world ends.

Time is a change so we have to be patient to let it unfold.