You think you’re mad, too unstable, kicking in chairs and knocking down tables

Hyde Park, five minutes from the Underground, Saturday afternoon. The swans nip and chase one another on the reflecting pool. The shirtless guys underhand rugby balls at one another, grinning, leaning, swaggering. The downtown girls have traded their rain slickers for bikini tops. They ensconce themselves on tablecloths and beach towels, their skin so white in the warm sun as to almost appear blue.

London has on her freshest face for me today. Airplane to hotel to downtown in three hours flat. I blink, dazzled by the high-noon sun. My body thinks it’s four a.m.

Leave a Reply