Turns out a guy sliced off his penis in the restaurant I ate in the other night.
Glad I ordered pasta without meatballs.
London reminds me of a Paris/Boston hybrid. There is cobblestone everywhere, but everyone is smoking butts and drinking rosé.
I'm wandering the streets of Westminster after dark and al fresco dining is chic.
It's a warm summer night and the blokes are cruising in their tight shirts and soccer mentality.
And those damn black cabs have no conscience.