I arrived at Westminster, London around seven o'clock on Sunday evening as the sun set below the horizon and the lampposts lit the gloomy streets. I had been evicted from my cottage in Gillingham for refusing to pay my rent and had come to London seeking advice from my parents in Highbury. I had only a few pounds left, just enough to catch a bus, as most of it had fallen through the holes in my pockets. I would head for Highbury tomorrow using the bus to get as close as possible but for now I would have to find somewhere to stay. I had searched the town cautiously for a safe place to sleep, as I had read about the alarming crime rate of this city and knew that it had been the scene of many assaults, murders and robberies. So after exploring the busy streets and hiding from many suspicious characters, I finally decided to spend the night on Westminster Bridge. The icy winds swept across the blue, sunlit river and stirred several waves and ripples, while brown autumn leaves floated through the air in each direction. I was able to relax by gazing at the captivating sunset and smelling the fresh, salty ocean fragrance that permeated though the air. I rested, listening to the cries and mutters of the busy community near me and watched several cars zoom across the bridge. My body trembled from both the breeze and the idea of being ambushed in the night, so I curled up in a ball to stay warm and checked my surroundings for any threats that emerged.
