An icy draft swept down the escalator shaft. He had no choice but to continue upwards. It drew him forth to Holborn.
Father and offspring on a northern line tube. Father, Italian we think; children, both outwardly consumed in books. Struck by the artifice of it. Not...
The mother had been told: she always watching, never let from eye. She was told, first: I so sorry, I so sorry. Then, thank god; thank god, thank god...
I posted this back in 2011. It's coming up to 9 years and I think it's a very fitting tribute.