Lines, obtuse, angled, harsh, specific reach every which way. A concrete jungle, I thought bitterly, wishing not for the first time for the rolling hills of my hometown so very far away at this moment. Rushing to catch the tube, I heard my feet slap against the concrete floor, echoing in the cavernous new building, designed by up and coming architects. I looked up again and my eyes catch the image of a woman, about my age moving with a purposed grace towards a perpendicular exit. Unlike the cadence of my harried feet, she moves with grace, arms swinging in the rhythm of a song known only to her. Promise and purpose, lines of a different kind cutting across the expanse of this concrete jungle – all too human, all too prone to wander, an angle entirely new. I smiled, returning to my own commute amidst the angles, all – a renewed sense of space and our place in it.