Will a Size 11 fit?

The tones of an alarm clock stir the bedroom air. It’s a varied jangle, alternately rising and jumping octaves. Reposed, slowly becoming aware of the day. Snooze. Snore. Alarm. Repeat. This is it, time to hit the bricks. Put those feet on the floor, grab your towel. London Awaits! Snooze. Snore. Alarm. Panic. Regret for those selfish minutes of rest. Hell, I didn’t even get to REM. Priority List: wash hair, brush teeth, make bus. Don’t forget your keys this time. Towel, towel towel… TOWEL! Still warm from the radiator, awesome. Hair clean, clothes on, laces tied. Let’s Go! Overcast as usual, put the hood up. Oh wait. Brits get afraid when they see a hood, keep it down. This pace is nice. If I walk this fast for 30 minutes I’ll be at Parliament. There’s the bus! This is why you run every day, pick it up. Long line, the bus has to stop for a while. Wallet out, made the bus. Don’t act winded. Ride up top, less people to annoy with these loud headphones. I made it. I made it. Alright, I made it. School. Coffee first. Find the most obscure shop. Something with the owners behind the counter and a decorative tip jar. Latte? No, Americano today. OH, here’s the stop. Fileric, sounds cool. Americano. Tall. Take away. Take the sub walkway today, skip crossing streets. New advertisements. A single man. Tom Ford directing, what the hell I thought he was a fashion dude? Natural History Museum open til 10 this Friday? My list of things to do just grew. SO. MANY. KIDS. AHH. Finally out. Sky. So cool I’m in London. Could I live here? Maybe if I was here. I love walking through this archway. My insignificance only grows every time I walk through these doors. Class. On time. Perfect.