I made a late morning departure to Camden Town Market, but found it too cheap, too gothic, and too aggressive, so I left for Camden Passage. There, I found an old Indian charm and some earrings, vintage photographs, and a fabulous Afghani lapis necklace. I bargained hard for it, though it was still more expensive than I could really afford. It’s truly a spectacular one-of-a-kind piece and I can’t wait to show the Bead Gallery girls back home. The man who sold me the necklace asked if all of the girls back in Michigan wore v-necks and silk scarves in February. I told him they didn’t.

While I was bargaining, a half-drunken brawl almost broke out. The instigator, the drunk, shouted: “Did he call me a wanker? Why, if I could only stand on two feet…” The other man, who must have been disturbingly sober on this warm Wednesday morn, just sat at his picnic table, puffing his eyes and rolling his cigarette. The drunk continued, “You’re a complete idiot. If I could just stand…” He then attempted to stand, nearly fooling us all into believing that a semi-decent fight was about to happen. He didn’t get far before withdrawing victoriously to his bench.

Following the markets, I took the train to the White Cube 2 gallery (the one supporting Damien Hirst) in Hoxton Square. I found only one piece worthwhile: a video environment where each wall played scenes from movies or actual war footage of men shooting guns at the viewer. I found it loud, bright and unsurprisingly, but effectively, oppressive. While heading back to the Underground, I passed a young twenty-something being hassled by two cops. The guy was dressed like every other British mod rocker, in a skinny black suit with a skinny black tie, large black sunglasses, and a cigarette dangling from his jaunty, smirked lips. I was just able to overhear one cop say to him quite sternly, “You’re lucky you aren’t arrested!” The mod’s smirk widened and he offered nothing more than a shrug, which relayed his indifference to the matter. I don’t know what happened prior to my passing, but I would have been very surprised if the bloke hadn’t been socked in the face shortly after.

After this misadventure, I tubed to the Tate Modern and saw the Gilbert and George retrospective and their permanent collection. I loved the way the Tate exhibits its work. Paintings are hung at various latitudes of the exhibition walls, which allows both a more casual and comparative approach than the formal linearity of most other museums. It was like viewing the art in your hip colleague’s stylish apartment. Currently, the Tate has an installation of giant slides running from the second, third, and fifth floors to the lobby. I took the slide from its highest point and found the experience not dissimilar from the video installation at the White Cube (see above). In the museum’s café I ate a crispy open-faced sandwich with chêvre, prosciuttio, fig, and rockets.

Walking out of the museum took me past the Globe Theater and over the Thames just in time for the sunset. It was scenic in every sense of the word, very moving and very romantic. The experience prompted musings that concerned the capricious relationship I hold with my long-term partner, Loneliness. Evidently wanting these feelings of misery and utter hopelessness to never cease, I walked to the West End theater district and achieved the great feat of acquiring a half-price ticket to that evening’s show of Les Misérables (20£). Before the curtain, I scurried my way back into SoHo and tried a French-Italian restaurant (Chez Biagio Victor, 45 Wardour). For 10£, I had potato and onion soup (superb), spaghetti (al denté), and a crème caramel (leaky). The performance was wonderful and I had a great seat. Afterward, I felt much more optimistic about the state of my affairs. There was no way I could possibly ever feel more alone than Valjean.

Notes:
Funny trees. Palm trees.
Public drunks.
Love poems on the Underground instead of advertisements.
Immediate service and comfortable seats on said Underground.
Very friendly, even complimentary, citizens.
A bakery, wine shop, sex store, and casino all in a row.
Stores with names like, “The Orc’s Nest” and “The Mutts’ Nuts.”
All around good-looking, stylish people.
Too few public trash cans.