London Fog: A Blessing in Disguise
I’ve been here just over two months, and I simply can’t adjust to how ugly everyone is. And I don’t mean the people have bad haircuts or that they could stand to lose 5 pounds. Those would be major upgrades.
Someone asked me if there was a way to sum up the look of the average Londoner. It isn’t easy, but try to envision how Pinocchio would look if Geppetto had developed a crippling loss of confidence halfway through the carving. I’ll give you a hint; lopsided eyesockets. There are enough misaligned eyes in this town to make the periscope obsolete. Given my experience with
UK handiwork, maybe these errant eyeballs actually
standard for “level.” Or perhaps each person is doing a cheekbone tribute to
the scales of justice. Don’t ask me, I’m
not from here. UK
Picture every memorable freak you’ve ever seen, every shard of human wreckage that set your teeth on edge. Well, London is an assembly-line of those ghastly outliers. Put it this way, I am used to seeing varicose veins on legs. I am not used to seeing them on faces.