On July 18th, I flew to London for the first stop in a long trip for work. The afternoon was free, so I went for a walk with a coworker through Hyde Park, SOHO, and back along the Thames and Buckingham Palace to our hotel in South Kensington. It was a death march.
After a filling British dinner, I walked back in the dark and hoped that a carriage would offer me a ride to London past.
They don’t make gates like this anymore.
Grandmother and girl look away from bronze horse penis.
Dredged serpentine algae.
Lounge chairs on a rainy day.
Turban matches bag.
The littlest car in town.
A Hummer in Mini’s clothing.
No Pacman found within.
Near fear of bricks.
Hoboes need the most naps.
This lot had kegs and it knew how to use them.
Christo resorts to scaffolding in his later years.
Horse Cops is filmed on location.
Can I get some action from the dog section?
The next and last day, I had to sit in a casting office and decide the fate of a never-ending stream of hopeful actors.
I was feeling sad missing out on London, so I set the alarm for 5:30 in the morning and went for a walk before we left for the airport.
My route took me to Paddington Basin and back.
The secret garden.
The Queen’s what?
Let me just set your milk here.
Am I in the future?
Lonely and industrial.
Discarded bouquets near Royal Albert Hall.
While sad to leave London, I looked forward to morning walks in Prague.