Waiting for the very last train home after a night on the town, the quiet underbellies of Westminster Station had never looked so beautiful. Brushed steel and glass, a cavernous network of escalators and staircases engulfed us as we descended down. Why hadn’t we noticed the scale of this place before?
Place is so strongly defined by time in London. A platform that just a few hours earlier had been hot with the chaos of Friday’s commute suddenly transformed into a sensual escape for two. Even the lights held their breaths as stolen kisses echoed in the breezy tunnels.
