London is a swinging town. At sunset all the birds are out in their short shorts and mini-skirts, enjoying this fleeting summer bliss, with their Arab sisters in full veil, some with faces covered. Every nationality imaginable passes in moments on the crowded little streets, ancient stone buildings shadowed by modern concrete and glass highrises and towers, some actually quite beautiful. The energy is relaxed but charged up. Burberry, Camper, Starbucks, MacDonalds—they’re all here, but so are the Algerian brothers serving top notch pizza, and the fish & chips and the swinging fashion boutiques, and a row of vintage guitar with prices a bit too dear for all but the rock stars and the accountants and the lawyers. It’s London, spiritual child of swinging London.
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