She's a bitch.

Living in London is a bitch. That was a starting point, main topic and the conclusion of a conversation that I had the other day with my friend. Over some wine and a tequila shot for every glass of it.

London is a bitch that you’re in love with. She is going to disappoint you, kick you and make you kneel every time she wants to. She will be cruel to you, show, how wrong you were in your view on life and how unrealistic your dreams were.

But you love her. You love the way she smiles when she lets you meet great people, get broke after paying your rent in a place not worth the money, but so close to London Eye, that you can see it on your way back from a party. You love her free museums and that she lets you meet strangers there and have a coffee with them in the moment you really need it. You fell in love again after seeing Christmas lights in Chelsea.

After all she loves you to in her own wicked way. What other city would take your drunk idea seriously? Imagine the artist, amazed by the effect that Viagra had on her boyfriend. Talking to her friends in a pub:

-I’m gonna make a huge sculpture of giant blue cock and place it on Trafalgar Square!

- Are you mad? Even if they would allow you to do that, no one would pay for that!

Well the mere did, and a giant blue cock stands proudly in front of National Gallery.

She’s a bitch, but you love her. Because every day spent here has a taste of a dream slowly, but steady coming true.