Knitblast the Second: love and the scent of cat shampoo at Covent Garden
The ebb and flow of bumbagged tourists that is Covent Garden. They stand in their socks and sandals in the rare afternoon sunshine and clink shiny pound coins into the hats of wide-mouthed mimes and Pop-eye armed jugglers. They scurry about the maze of shops that smell like mangoes, or pasties, or lavender. They stumble slightly on the cobbled floors but don’t mind so much because it’s all full of ‘quaint’. I stand on the corner where two lovers once met for the first...
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