TEXT: It reminded her of the anderson shelter that used to be at the bottom of the garden. The shelter was her den when she was little. The family moved away from the house when she was 7, and for the first time, she wondered if the den was still there. They had chopped down the silver birch that her sister had planted as soon as they settled in, so it wasn’t very likely.
TEXT: The carpark hadn’t been used for a long time. Anyone that drove in, drove out. No one wanted to leave their valuable car in the vacuous space. There were a few cameras, but Giles knew where they were placed, and knew how to avoid them. He had lived there for 2 years now. The 4th floor was his rooftop terrace. If the weather was nice, he would make a hot cup of coffee on his camping stove, take it to the top of the building and survey the city. It was a concrete castle, and he was king.
Disinfectant, a harsh morning waft and a sticky floor. Professor James’ shoes squeaked on the freshly mopped laminate, his weathered hand with rough nails catching on the banister as he ascended. The light from the round glass windows passed over his brown suit, highlighting the threadbare arms and baggy knees.
TEXT: I would stand, looking up at a different window each day, for ten minutes at 9:14, and watch the girl. My posture was always the same, I was quite careful to assume the correct stance. After three weeks and … Continue reading
“In London, where Southhampton Row passes Russell Square, Leo Szilard waited irritably one gray Depression morning for the stoplight to change. A trace of rain had fallen during the night; Tuesday, September 12, 1933, dawned cool, humid and dull. Drizzling rain would begin again in early afternoon. When Szilard told the story later he never mentioned his destination that morning. He may have had none; he often walked to think. In any case another destination intervened. The stoplight changed to green. Szilard stepped off the curb. As he crossed the street time cracked open before him and he saw a way to the future, death into the world and all our woe, the shape of things to come….”
Text and inspiration courtesy of – http://n4trb.com/London/imperial_hotel_london.htm
Different hotel, same place, wrong time.