Waiting Outside St. John’s Wood: A Summer of Hope in London

going to have an easy time.

She didn’t shout or make a scene. She didn’t need to. A single look was enough to let us know that we were being evaluated, measured, and—at least initially—found suspicious.

“Stay there,” she instructed, pointing to a specific spot with the kind of precision that left no room for argument.

We exchanged glances, unsure whether continue reading …