Then it happened. Again.

Forget Woody Allen and quotes such as "He adored it, he idolized it all out of proportions". Blablabla. No "Manhattan" romance, nor 59th Street Bridge shootings have paved my way so far in this town. Firstly because I didn't decide to move to New York: I picked London instead. Besides, no need to say this city didn't welcome me in the best way. No job, loneliness, hard study. Oh yeah, and no girls, for sure. No time for them anyway. But the worst's still to come: I can still see myself wandering all across the town, dropping CV's (no one's gonna read them!!) from door to door, asking for a vacancy. And then, that on-going galling refrain..."Mmh....well, we don't have a vacancy at the moment, but we'll keep your CV with us. GOOD LUCK". Hideous. Teaasing, isn't it? But then it happens again. Here you are, all along one out 12(??) or 13(??) bridges binding the Thames to its bed. You're freezing, not for the weather, which is still quite warmy indeed, but because you're shocked by the the wind blows, sneaking underneath your hoodie. And you just see it. The sun in every fade of red, in its ever chaging overtones, minute by minute, seconds by seconds. You turn round, the London Eye on your right, St. Paul's yawning, set up to get to sleep, on your left. Life within. And a smile on your face, stretching those muscles you forgot you had.