I see some people dying on the pavement as I walk to work. Then I see some other people dying in an alleyway as I walk home from work. I see them in the corner of my eyes as I meet my friends for a drink or maybe head to a restaurant. I wonder if the money for my over-priced lager in Covent Garden should really have been given to the man sobbing out his story to passers-by in the exit from Charing Cross station. So far, so me.
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