A London (Sunday morning)

The best time to walk through London high-streets and go for breakfast is on a Sunday morning. It is almost desert of any form of traffic. One couple walking peaceful over here, a bus to Victoria over there, an empty road in-between. After a sleeplessness night pass while migrating from one pub to the next, dragging naked bodies from a living room into the a bed room, it is also the best time to enjoy a breakfast calmly. Then, early in the morning we both go for a coffee and croissant like nothing has happened, on a sunny London, and as if nothing else happens in the world. I'm not going for a paper - two days ago a Malaysia Airlines plane going from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing has disappeared; official sources, according to media reports, are suggesting that it might has been a terrorist act take by two passengers with stolen passports that booked tickets together; however, what I will say is that this looks like more as an air plane malfunction (as is use to be) or a testing shot in to the sky, than to what the official sources are looking to blame - or walk the dog. That is from a completely and more complex order. It requires much more energy, intellect, and being in touch with reality, though! I'm talking of something much more basic; more bare-life. Like going to a MacDonald's, or any other high-street fast-food-chain. Where we just want to drag something in to the stomach, not to tasty a savoury meal accompanied by an exquisite wine and a delicious companion. Sunday, is just another day in London, and we must enjoy it before it's to late. I need this in my life. I'm going down without having my head around you all the time. It is full of alternations and contradictions. Every time I look at you I feel under a gun. Looking, feeling smaller, desperate. In need of a cigarette and a bottle of whisky. You are just a small, a fragile, a precious corpus ready to died. The best time to walk through London, is on a Sunday morning.