"Oh, it's great!" A haggard, working woman sat next to us with her purse tucked securely on her lap. "I leave at 9 and I'm there by 9:40... And I'm home just as quick," said the woman as she nodded her head with agreeable certainty.
A 40 minute underground shoot to London!
We stepped out from beneath the crust of the earth and the sun and sky were different. The position of longitude made for an altered scope of how the natural atmosphere is usually viewed. This wasn't New York's sky. This was London's sky. This was not our sky. The buildings were pale and the architecture was old and smooth. People were scurrying around, like in New York. But the people were not New Yorkers. They were a different breed... taller, whiter, and dressed tightly and walked their streets with confidence. We poured out from the underground in our haphazard, American way.
And wouldn't you know it? The first damn thing we decided to do was visit a local pub to have ourselves a hearty, potent brew. We stopped at an ATM to pull out some cash to exchange our dollars for pounds.
Choose An Amount:
£10 £120
£24 £164
£63 £204
£180 £220
These amounts made no fucking sense. Besides, I wasn't certain how much money was kicking around my account. I thought I would surely have to call my bank and find out.
We were on the subway again. Destination: New York, with the mindset that we would be returning to London on the next train, only to return home before the end of the night. 40 minutes there. 40 minutes back. 40 there. 40 back. There and back. There and back.
We were on the subway again. Destination: New York, with the mindset that we would be returning to London on the next train, only to return home before the end of the night. 40 minutes there. 40 minutes back. 40 there. 40 back. There and back. There and back.

1 comment:
I'd like to hear more about this transatlantic connection.
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