The lifts were in constant use. The stairs were the only way down to the street. In a quiet procession we made our way down, and forced our way across the road past the busy traffic. People were still chatting. On the street or in Red Lion Square? Will the traffic actually stop? How would we all know when it was time?
Then the buses started pulling in. One by one, they rounded the corner into Procter Street, and stopped by the side of the road. Some of the drivers got out and came to stand with the rest of us. Traffic died away. Some drivers slowed, uncertain, as they realised what was happening, before finally pulling in themselves.
A bizarre lack of sound finally descended over the city, allowing the cry of a gull flying overhead to be clearly heard.
Construction workers, journalists, lawyers, business people, shop staff. We stood for two minutes in silence, in though, in memory.
And then one car pulled away. The moment was broken, the two minutes over.
We filed back into our offices, back into the business of London.
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