Meditation on London 2 Westminster Bridge, just before I walked across it. The first time I met her I didn’t know what to think. She was loud. She was scented by petrol fumes. There were people clamoring all around her. Everyone wanted to either be with her, be in the same picture with her, or at least have a weekend fling with her. She’s been the mistress of kings and queens. The muse of authors, artists, filmmakers, rock musicians, and fashion icons. The streets that course through her are like veins that carry her lifeblood; her people. It’s the Thames that gives her those curves, as it caresses her sides, and holds her together. It’s like the laces of a corset that zig-zag across her back. Her name is London. I can’t help but feel a little smitten with her. I’m in love with Bath. I find Stratford-Upon-Avon charming. Manchester feeling like a hometown. But London is like that wild girl you see across the dance floor in a nightclub; as