11:45 a.m. in Bermondsey: my first beer. I drank my last one at 3:00 a.m. when I got back to my hotel, in Whitechapel. Everything that happened in between taught me that London is correct: urban planning is dumb and bad.
Cities—real cities, the ones that make it an expensive nuisance to own a pickup truck—should not be planned. They cannot be planned. Th…
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