Darkness had fallen when I stepped out of the tube station. Shadows of purple and green from the blinking lights of the newspaper store were dancing on the wet pavement. I felt the drops of London rain on my hands and my face as I walked down the road. For a few seconds I imagined the raindrops were soft flakes of snow slowly melting on my warm skin and my footsteps were creaking on an untouched cover of white as in the memories I had from my childhood and the country where I grew up. I remembered a full moon shining and an unbreakable silence while watching the night fade. I remembered a red dawn over fields of gold and the innocence of the first sun of the year. And then I remembered his cheerful whistle whenever he turned the keys in the door. And then I was back in the rain.
I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder. I had long stopped wondering what it meant. When London falls.
