The Sunday flower market in the Shoreditch area of London was a gem that I was hardly expecting when my friend led me in the direction of people returning with bouquets wrapped in simple brown paper.
Packed into what is no more than two city blocks is every kind of flower you can imagine. Men- giant, burly men- standing stall to stall shouting and sweating and swearing out the prices of their flowers. They are an immaculate study of living juxtaposition.
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