Environmental Aspects of the Taxi Industry in London

I still remember. Memories, akin to mosquitoes in amber, often poetically escapes our full understanding. They never seem to lose their vividity, inhabiting a bittersweet netherworld full of grace and sorrows. Youthful, and therefor foolish, I attempted to navigate through a kaleidoscope of senseless events, aimlessly floating in the smoke rings of providence. My effervescent mind was learning how to let go. Malleable and curious, I was easily impressed, often clearly lacking useful critical thinking. My mercurial personality was fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, or the simile of it at the least. From Plato to Barthes, and countless others, I furiously read, like a child trying to run before he made his first steps.

I still remember. Memories, akin to mosquitoes in amber, often poetically escapes our full understanding. They never seem to lose their vividity, inhabiting a bittersweet netherworld full of grace and sorrows. Youthful, and therefor foolish, I attempted to navigate through a kaleidoscope of senseless events, aimlessly floating in the smoke rings of providence. My effervescent mind was learning how to let go. Malleable and curious, I was easily impressed, often clearly lacking useful critical thinking. My mercurial personality was fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, or the simile of it at the least. From Plato to Barthes, and countless others, I furiously read, like a child trying to run before he made his first steps.

I still remember. Memories, akin to mosquitoes in amber, often poetically escapes our full understanding. They never seem to lose their vividity, inhabiting a bittersweet netherworld full of grace and sorrows. Youthful, and therefor foolish, I attempted to navigate through a kaleidoscope of senseless events, aimlessly floating in the smoke rings of providence. My effervescent mind was learning how to let go. Malleable and curious, I was easily impressed, often clearly lacking useful critical thinking. My mercurial personality was fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, or the simile of it at the least. From Plato to Barthes, and countless others, I furiously read, like a child trying to run before he made his first steps.

I still remember. Memories, akin to mosquitoes in amber, often poetically escapes our full understanding. They never seem to lose their vividity, inhabiting a bittersweet netherworld full of grace and sorrows. Youthful, and therefor foolish, I attempted to navigate through a kaleidoscope of senseless events, aimlessly floating in the smoke rings of providence. My effervescent mind was learning how to let go. Malleable and curious, I was easily impressed, often clearly lacking useful critical thinking. My mercurial personality was fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, or the simile of it at the least. From Plato to Barthes, and countless others, I furiously read, like a child trying to run before he made his first steps.

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