Initially, Damon’s complaints are ignored by his bandmates. His voice is lost in the blustering gales that swirl about the trees and accelerate about the buildings, sending clusters of leaves dancing desperately up and across the grey urban pathways and summer-green grass that shimmers with dew in the dawn sunlight.
Primrose Hill. It is not an overcast day, far from it in actual fact, with the early morning sun arcing pleasantly above the foggy outlines of distant buildings, immersing the sweeping green landscape in a ludicrous, deep pink. The band is taking advantage of the morning glory, something suggested in passing by Ale
