standing tall {london tales}

i see it rising ahead of me, as i'm chasing bermondsey antiques market. i'm going be late for the market, but that's how it is. a white caucasian male cycles by, on a vehicle that carries two ghetto blasters held in place by elastic straps. from them emanates the call from the minaret. anybody seeing him biking by, including me, gives him the eye, creating a sort of invisible bond between spectators. puzzlement, bewildering, judgement seem to be ours.

i pass a lady who's walking her dog. she points me in the right direction for the market. ai, but it'll be done, luv'. always charming to hear a fair scottish accent down the centre of london. i ask her about the shard. dunno, luv', no-oh. i shrug. i find the market, which is unfolding. never mind. 

the shard. i caught a program on it previously, and realised then the british have come up with another prestigious project to, well, outsmart the (architecural) world, perhaps?

the shard is tall and shiny. getting within reach, making my way towards london bridge, i realize the closer i'm gettin', the less the shard looks ginormous. that's how it is with tall buildings, isn't it? they shrink inevitably upon approach. all it comes down to, really, is the umpteenth business building made of glass.

to conclude my earlier intentions, i disappear down the tube. another box on the to do list ticked.
{more london photos here.}