London

It was cold. But OK. I don't think I spoke more than twice the entire time. There were pictures, not very interesting to be honest. So much of modern art is utter shite. But some, some were good and special and meant something to me. Some were awesome, in their skill and perfection and wholeness of existence.
There was a man with a hawk at St. Pancras station. It was the best thing. He has his fierce bird of prey, and sends it out to scare pigeons.
A tramp on the tube scared me. He was walking down the trains, begging for any spare change. He had gangrene, walked with a stick. Scared me so much with the misery of his existence that I'm dizzy and horrible. The whole world spins out like crazy and for some reason all the nasty gets spun into me at the centre.
London is dirty. And there are lots of people running. Everyone else had fun. Its calming to listen to others talking and laughing so effortlessly.