Rainy Evenings

Its raining hard. People huddle under shelter and umbrellas as drops pour down and overspills cascade. I wait outside Charing Cross Station under lamplight. The Evening Standard man shouts FINE-AL in two long drawn out syllables. I'm sure this is how it used to be - street traders and sellers close to Covent Garden shouting their wares as posh people promonaded and horse drawn carriages trundled up the muddy thoroughfare that the Strand must have been.