It's the start of the Second Lockdown.
For the only the second time since March I'm in the West End.
I really feel I am literally going through the motions of being in the city.Following one of my usual paths, along Piccadilly to Leicester Square and into Soho, emotionally and mentally it's not the same place. I could expect that.
But the absence of its physical nature strikes me more.
Wariness of our proximity to others feels like it's becoming second nature but it's not ...natural.
The fabric of the city is beginning to rent, making manifest the mood of temporality.
Don't get me wrong. Decay and renewal is part and parcel of the life of the city, a reflection of life lived. This is different.
This is more about neglect and rejection.
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A brokenheartedness.