One early morning in 2012, I was still living in London, a Eurasian city shrouded in mist. After saying hello to the lonely wrinkled old man on the quaint steps of St. Peter's Church, he left in a hurry.
When I returned home, I found a single-family house hidden in the depths of a remote alley. There was an unusual postal worker standing outside the door, stuffing the envelope into the closed mailbox. If I hadn't seen this letter, then it would have been unknown and never seen the light of day.
He won't break into my life arbitrarily.
It is worth mentioning that the weather in London often reaches certain times, when the fog is dispersed by light rain and the scorching sun, exposing the clock tower and tower.
Purpose: To pursue the feast of the 19th century.