An autumn Sunday in East London: cobble stones and terraces—the air is grey but warm, muggy—the flower market heaving with beautiful people in their shiny shoes, long coats, sweater vests, tiny dogs—calla lilies in hoards—a band and a tap dancer perform outside the pub which is just opening its doors—cyclists lazily skirt round corners past people with no plans, who are hanging around outside the café waiting for a coffee, sharing a cigarette, a bit of quiet conversation, perfect people-watching
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