Piccadilly was my favourite bit of London, a hub of continental cafes, art gallery aficionados, St James-in-the-fields church, standing for generations, hosting the best bric-a brac sales, til the Great Lockdown.

We were exiled, our homes become our shrunken worlds policed by fear. Through my casement window I  stared at the empty street. Crumbs of comfort came from friends’ calls, until we were set free, to meet in person, wearing a mask of course, keeping two metres distance. A friend for coffee is a sunburst from a grey sky. Reconnection  brings new joy. Dare I hope ?

Thanks to dear Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Roger Bultot for the photo.

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