London Bridge Train Station

We lived for a week at Clock House, still part of Greater London. We had to head always to London Bridge station to catch the train that took almost 30 minutes for it to arrive. We passed through 8 or 9 stations. One day we got lost because of me. We had to get off irredeemably at 10 o'clock at night in an extremely dangerous slum, we found a gang similar to those in New York in the '80s. They were like five boys between the ages of 17 and 22, with a girl and a bulldog.

Next to us was a family, which seemed a little lost too, the difference was that they could go unnoticed by the gang. Without an internet connection, I felt the worst in the world, I felt like we were going to stay there, that we were going to have little fortune to go out unscathed and get little chances to get to Helen's house with her husband and nephew Nicholas. I was going to be the guilty one to give an end to the best story in the world, for the reason that that day we had gone to Abbey Road and the Tate Museum, my soul was infested with light, until that moment.

Luckily the gang just gazed deep into us, we were the tourists, not even if we had shown a tranquil mood, would it be possible for us to be saved and feign not to be foreigners. Our train arrived after 10 minutes. My pal sat in front of me and so I did the same so as to watch our backs.

We get to the right station, we jumped off the train shaking or at least I was about to collapse, we walked among that dreary London suburb, at night the place seemed as if you were inside a horror movie. The slightest noise scared away, the shadows of the lost and nocturnal emerged such gripping gelidity. In your head you could create a sort of story in which you just wait for any signal to run with your heart beating so strongly, so much that it is possible for it to come out of your mouth.

We arrived at 10, Helen was already waiting for us. My head wanted to explode, all my body as well. We went to bed and the next day, it all become a dream again.