Five days later.
The London street was filled with energy as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows upon the cobbled pavement. A sea of protestors, their fervor burning brightly in their eyes, filled the thoroughfare, their voices rising in an unrelenting chorus of indignation. Placards painted with bold words and vibrant drawings waved defiantly in the air, bobbing like a turbulent sea in the wake of an approaching storm.
The air hummed with the righteous anger of the masses, their grievances echoing through the ancient stone facades that lined the street. The city was ablaze with a collective fury that permeated every brick and mortar, infecting even the very atmosphere with its palpable weight. And at the heart of this tempest of discontent, a lone horse-drawn carriage ambled down the road, oblivious to the maelstrom it had become a part of.
