Lashing rain. People huddle under the shelter on the train platform. A man holds out his hand to the slowing train as if it’s a taxi that he is hailing for personal use. I am squashed between a bald hipster with a sausage dog on his lap and a round woman shouting loudly down the phone in a language I don’t understand. Engineering works means we are kicked off the train. The bus is filled with jostling teenage boys. Fogged up windows. The word STOPPING back lit in red. Stopping. Then a lime bike. I wipe the saddle dry with my sleeve. Take a wrong turn and end up lost in a labyrinthian housing estate. Speed bumps. Back on track. Streets upon streets. The sheer breadth of lives contained in the duration of this ten minute bike ride. Rubbish strewn over concrete by raiding foxes. A red light. A side glance at the motorbike driver revving beside me, a brief connection of eyes before looking away. Rain coming down harder now. Pitch dark. Numb fingers. Soaked through. I get to my house. Just one house in three and a half million homes in London City. Stinking, noisy, restless, illimitable London. I love you London but please stop raining now.