London
London.
You catch the taste of rain and old stories, and the street leans in as if ready to share another. The Shard climbs with steady hunger, glass drinking the dim light until it tastes bright.
History moves in the cloth above, colors worn and brave. You stand in the hush between heartbeats, and the city sets a rhythm for your own. Pride whispers and progress hums, and you walk forward feeling both in your pocket.
