the South Bank was going to be very, very challenging. We walked slowly, you and me, concentrating on our breathing and footsteps, until something else caught your eye. The water was reflecting, refracting, and diffracting the moonlight in a way which made you happy. The light pollution of central London vanished as you concentrated on the colour the Thames had become. Feet and hands gained footholds and handholds in the concrete of Westminster Bridge, and then you were standing on its parapet, looking expectantly down at the water. “You mad, bro?”
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