The Narrative Reasoning For A Coup

June 3, 3:59 pm, London, England

The sun was getting low in the sky. Not that anyone could tell; the clouds hung above, masking the sun, and a chilly wind pierced through my bones. All the people around me had the same idea, wearing large coats and hats to keep the chill out.

I stood to the side, away from the bustling people, looking up at the live broadcast on the screens. As usual, Picadilly Circus was packed. Hundreds of people milled about, hurriedly going to and from appointments, getting annoyed at the ones who were simply milling about, taking in the scenery.

You could always tell a tourist from a local, and no, it wasn't from how they were all window shopping. Locals window shopped, but they were clever about it. They knew where to stop to not block the flow of foot traffic, and they had at least a general idea of where to go for what they wanted.

Tourists though? They always looked around as if they'd never seen stores before.