The overnight flight from New York was surprisingly short. Reality hit me as I saw the clouds below. It was another cloudy day. So typical of London. I could almost trace the flow of the River Thames.
Home is where the heart is.
But the heart is a lonely hunter. Like my cat, it hunts on someone else's grounds. Not enough sleep, I reckoned. The taxi driver was kind. For an extra tip, he lifted my fat suit case and carried the rest of my broken luggage.