Where: Vauxhall Bridge

Who: The Last Survivors of Foulsham

Maybe five with me. Running, running any way we could. There were calls behind, whistles blowing, I heard another shot of a gun, oh God, and then, oh God, oh God, screams after too, yet another shot and then silence. On we ran, we must, on and on, and turning what corners we may to keep the policemen from us. To escape their killing company. I had no notion where or what or anything, I was bloody and scraped and cut but we could not stop, must not stop or be taken.

I hate you, London, I hate you already.