The red bricks

February 5, 2015

After I said farewell to the number one suspect in the UK, I caught a couch to Baker street. The identical british houses with the red bricks seem kind of melancholic on a cold Wednesday night. I couldn’t help but wondering ,who inhabits them. Are they happy, ambitious, in love, British, migrant, young, old? What is their daily routine. Do they maybe have a horse to take care of every evening? Do they read a book or watch teli?

An hour and twenty minutes later, the driver announces our arrival at the Baker Street. I take my luggages and wonder how I will meet my always late sister without a charged phone. “Pret a manger” gives me the answer. I rush inside and order a cup of tea. The melancholy gave its place to excitement. This city is not only red bricks. It is bustling with people. I looked quickly around me. The musterious people, i was so curious about acouple of minutes before, were sitting next to me. Talking on the phone, reading a book, socialize after work.

My running-late sister met me at the coffeeshop and we decided to take our chances to the tiny and popular Burger shop: the Patty and Bun. We walked through Baker Str to Marylebone and saw some more houses with red bricks. This time I knew that in the past a very bright British personality lived on the number 221B of that street. One hotel was named after him : Sherlock Holmes.

The shop was packed, as expected. A tall skinny guy showed us the way to the outdoors waiting bench. Fortunately my new coat looks and feels like a mattress and did not let the freezing cold to reach me. The waiting lasted for approximately twenty minutes. The burger did reward us. It tasted like real meat, something a little rare in London.

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