London
Whole days of evening. Prowler and lurkers patrolling the streams and tributaries.
Cartoon characters of men march around proud with the chest stuck out and the air of disregard for motor vehicles far larger than their swiftly gait.
London is its own country.
There are advertisements for sex everywhere, but you never see it. It strolls down the street flicking the hips, holstered on heel. There is a brothel next door. The one with the windows boarded up and only red lights emitted.
London is an old massive animal machine edifice.