Ramblings

One day in London, I started writing down my impressions of the things I had been doing. Here's the slightly edited version of my ramblings --

At the Nordic bakery: trendy & wealthy patrons who probaby twork in the area and just got out of a business meeting. Such a warm place. It smells of cinnamon and fall. Wood panels and dark wood tables. There's an improv going on outside. 

Leaves falling. London is great in the fall. I still miss the smells of New Hampshire in the fall. 

After seeing that improv group, it's hard to believe that some of the things people are doing outside can be random and not part of some improv. An old man walking to the center of the square seems like more than just some old man on the phone in the middle of the square. A scruffy man holding a large book or piece of cardboard might be more than meets the eye.

I was scammed last night and I feel ashamed and guilty and embarrassed and miserable.

I would love to work for a company that holds informal business meetings in such a place. Or be a writer who comes here to get some writing done. I see people with portfolios and notebooks and BlackBerries and I envy them because maybe just maybe they have interesting jobs where they're challenged and intellectually stimulated.  I would give anything to be like them.

I went to Foyles and almost bought literary magazines. I didn't find n+1.

Went to what they call "the original wrap place" which is a place where the food is great but the music is obnoxiously loud. One of the cooks told me to smile. He was chipper in an annoying way.