Vice has been running a hilarious (and sobering) column for years now called London Rental Opportunity of the Week, which I stumbled on a few days ago; the author is hanging up his shingle and wrote a kiss-off to all landlords everywhere.
So it begins.
I walked up the street to the front of Union Station yesterday to peep out what I could see. The main room of the station building was closed off for a huge banquet of some kind. Out in front, people hawked Trump tchotchkes, all made in China (I checked) amidst huge lines of porta-potties. Here and there, red-hatted supporters wandered around the station, asking for directions.
One of my coworkers said it felt like Paris in ’42 as the German army rumbled through the outskirts of the city. It feels to me like the circus has pulled into town, and clowns are just going to keep pouring out of the cars.