The thing about London is that she breathes. With each new breath, people are sucked into her feistiness and on the exhale others are cast away. She is highly addictive and beautiful on her good days, when the streets shine with possibility and reward. Pubs and clubs and cafes spilling with her wards, laughing and crying, talking and loving, she makes them feel invincible and alive. On her bad days, she pounds you, throwing into your route every ugly thing you could ever see. There is greyness and sickness and poverty and addiction and sadness and wealth and greed and excess and people, oh so many people, saturated and surly. She offers up to you in her palms every extreme to dine upon. You can have your highest and best times here and other times she squashes you underfoot.