Original Writing

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Original Writing A few minutes north of London, the dark-grey sky, rising above bbuildings

; tall and thin. One end of the city is filled with people, lights,

clubs and pubs. The other side of the city is quite and dark. The fog

seems to linger over the street, clutching the buildings, the

streetlamps, the entire city, in a damp, icy grip. You can tell that

winter is on its way. The buildings are camouflaged by the dark sky,

shadowing the streets. The dark alleys, the big shops, the traffic

jams, are all part of the jungle called St Johns Wood. The naked trees

move, fiercely, with the strong wind. The city was lifeless. Cold

dense rain fell, like the dark clouds above, are crying letting all

the sadness fall on the city. Tall buildings were now barley visible

the long roads looked like small pathways. Most lights were coming

from the west part of the city brightening it up. Too many coloured

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