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Good evening.
There was a man named Mr London who lived in London once upon a time. He was 39 years of age, fated with youthful countenance that betrayed his long years of being jaded working in Financial Services.
Mr London had an ordinary routine. An ordinary house. An ordinary job. And an ordinary car. But every winter, the gods of the holiday would breathe on his little life and Mr London would find it imbued with colour, almost as if someone had thrown water colours on the black and white that was his life.
Shall we explore things further and see what colour we make?
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