Picadilly Circus at 7.30 in the morning is God photoshopping out all of the crowds that jostle for space and laying a thick blanket over the steady stream of traffic flows weaves through the warren of streets leading away.
Picadilly Circus at 7.30 in the morning tastes like the whipped cream on top of a peppermint mocha bought on a whim and implied need from one of the strategically placed Starbucks that litter the area.
Picadilly Circust at 7.30 in the morning might just about bump Hyde Park in spring time from the top of the list of my most favorite places in London, nevermind that it was also the site of a complete massacre of self esteem brought on by one question booklet, a twisty pencil, and some bits of paper.
