I stared out at the bridge, both fascinated and terrified about it. It's paint didn't match and it was so iconic that it was almost laughable in it's lack of coordination. Random boats are to the left out of the corner of my eyes, and a remarkably odd-shaped building sits on the horizon. Pigeons fly around, those "rats with wings" actually beautiful in my own opinion, and land mere feet from humans. Different colors shimmer around their necks and I never see the ugliness in them, only the beauty of avian creatures. Birds have always fascinated me.
I dig my toes through my socks and shoes into the cobblestones beneath my feet, thinking of the hundreds of years of people who may have done the same. Kings, Queens, peasants, and everyone between has walked these same roads. From the famous, to the infamous, to the forgotten, so many lives have passed through this area. The ground is rich with history; the river in front of me reeks of the past; the castle behind me protects me from it's terrors.
London is always fun.
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