Beyond the media spectacle and daily tourists, a parallel world exists within London. A world that seems not to observe the visitor. A reality away from the opulence, the speed and the cosmopolitan daily routine. These are neighbors, people with experiences, or those with more or less truncated lives. People who move silently, unheard, ubiquitous among visitor masses, blind and hardworking.

Working, shopping, walking in their daily routine, stationed on a lamppost, a sidewalk or playing in a corner for a few coins. Kilburn, Finsbury, Hackney, Dalston, Camden. Places where these people seem to act for the visitor who observes amazed and proud to be in that place at that moment and see what you do not see anywhere, thanking himself for the unusual, the bizarre or extraordinary people of London.

I do not see monuments. I do not see music. I see neither bridges nor towers nor wheels. Neither parks nor markets. I see people moving at the speed of light as traffic trails at night, working like ants. These points exist. I see people. Anonymous, hidden by a frantic pace that ignores them, leaving them apart.

I've been in London a few months and I have noticed, among other things, that each person’s worries. Their lives, their jobs, their schedule, their interests and objectives. A city with so many people and where it is so difficult to make real friends. Mutable, changeable, interchangeable. Another London.

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