It wasn’t too much of a detour on his route home. He walked rather than rode his bike there because the smog along Victoria Street and Whitehall seemed all but impenetrable. Cars and lorries were grinding a path through the gloom in first gear but only making progress inches at a time. Every hundred feet or so there was the diesel throb of a bus with seated rows of passengers. They looked resigned and jaundiced as he passed the yellowy interiors they occupied. Travelling by foot seemed to make more sense. He heard a boom from behind him that sounded unearthly and ominous, like the audible shock of something vast, shifted abruptly from its moorings. But then it repeated and he knew it was only Big Ben tolling the hour in a tone corrupted by this odd, alien atmosphere. The air was soot-spangled and thick, soiled and intrusive in the nostrils and lungs. It left a charred taste in the throat and he thought about how much people had come to take clean air for granted. The buildings of London were no longer blackly stained by the weather.
What do You think about The Lazarus Prophecy (2014)?
