London. The gloom and rain continue with a high of 59 degrees. Or 15°C, which looks far less satisfying. The sun goes down at 5:17pm, and there’s a full moon tonight. All my little routines and ablutions get blown to bits whenever I travel, and soon I’m pacing the floors, ghosted at three o’clock in the morning, trying to remember who I am and what I do.

I keep colliding with people in the streets and shops. I just can’t pick up the rhythm here. In New York, there’s a dance, a perpetual flow of pedestrians veering to the right. If you stop suddenly to look at your phone or admire a window display, you’ll get killed or shamed. But here, people plant themselves in the concrete, taking deep root and not budging. Or they seem to make a bee-line for me, inviting me to a game of chicken. Yesterday I had a theory: if people drive on the left, perhaps they also walk on the left. But no, I’m still getting out everybody’s way. So the problem is me. Maybe I need to get my own house and head in order rather than casting sinister motives on innocent Londoners. At least I’m finally a morning person in Eastern Standard Time.

Still in a Black Dog mood with their recent Brutal Minimalism and Music for Photographers releases in steady rotation. And in the early morning and late evenings: the Brutal Five to One Mix.

The Black Dog – Brutal Five to One Mix

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