10:45PM

It's still light out. I can still see a sliver of light across the horizon in the park. It's strange to think that some people grow up in areas that sometimes stay light throughout the night.

There is a band playing across the busy High Street, something raw and awful, sung at the top of some poor boy's lungs. The applause is measly, and it doesn't seem worth the effort the band is obviously putting into it. Still, each song is more powerful that the last, as if they believe that fame will come with the volume of their speakers.

The wind has died down but it's still strong. It no longer knocks over my bottle of water, but it still cuts my unaccustomed cheeks and tears through my flimsy sweater. I have dispensed with fashion and have taken to wearing socks with my sandals. My face might be blistering from the cold, but my toes are warm and toasty.

The Arabic mothers in their burqu'ahs have all gone home and left the streets to the London Youth, trawling from pub to pub in hopes of catching someone. It is quieter at night with all the shops closed behind their metal security gates, but the lack of density gives the people-watchers more to look at. The Yuppies and the Rollers and the Elite become easier to pick out of the thinning crowds. This is the only time you can hear individual voices...voices from Australia and Eastern Europe and India....

This is my favorite part of London.

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