I walk down Headhampton Street towards Holborn Street. It is raining, always raining in the city of London. It is me getting lost while wandering around bookshops, have a cup of tea. There's always a path to follow, a book to open. I sip of my tea, I gotta write, I think of you. You whisper in my ear, "You don't need a umbrella in London". I'm soaked, I laugh, I think, I gotta write. I walk down the street, I see Westminster from Trafalgar square, I smoke.This damn city, with its rain and its clouds. With that fog and that grey, with all those faded colours composing beautiful landscapes painted by Monet. I have to go back to the National Gallery.
I keep on walking, looking for you. I think of your smile and I keep it in my mind while the rain is falling over me.
That happened years before I found you, if something happened. I was looking for you at dawn, in the rain and, after wandering around the whole city, then, later, I went back home and looked for you between the sheets and the mattress of my bed. This damn city. Now I sip of another cup of tea in another café in other London. The rain is never the same, and the clouds are always changing. But it seems to be the same when you whisper in my ear "You don't need a umbrella in London".
I think of you.