It is different today, and yet it is not. Little changes are made noticeable by the memory of the sameness. A new ramp made of asphalt, a fountain where there were only buskers.

The drawings on Trafalgar Square’s stony space are the same as yesterday yet different from the day before. “Your economy or Google’s?” one asks. “Write the name of your beloved in the heart!” another exclaims.

I give a nod to the statue of Washington as I pass, our secret status as expats binding us. His alabaster eyes gaze heavenward and we envy Nelson’s perspective over it all.