Old London Town is like home to you. Your native soil, your old stomping grounds, the place where you became who you are. If you can't keep yourself alive in London, then there's no hope for you. You've been stranded in the depths of hostile jungles, so the streets of a familiar city should prove no real obstacle to someone of your caliber.
You climb carefully down the newspaper, to the wet pavement below. The pooled water is quite fresh, so you have a decent length of time before a new downpour may threaten your tiny form.
Picking a direction entirely at random, you set off.
Early in the morning it may be, but London is busy at all hours of the day, and the hurtling masses of the great London transport network send fear into you with the sheer scale of their passing. They're bigger and faster, making you seem all the more pathetic in comparison. It's like seeing an entire continent rush past you in the time it takes to blink...
And the gusting wind kicked up by the bus is enough to snag your tiny, struggling body, raising it to newfound heights before casting you back down again, a considerable distance from your starting point.
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