Cities in summer are like 28 Days Later, magically emptied of people | Hannah Jane Parkinson

The roads become bare, queues dwindle and buses proffer seats, revealing things gone unnoticed

There are times of the year – the height of the summer holidays or the period between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve – when city roads become bare and the pavements clear. Queues dwindle. Buses proffer seats. The clicks of heels echo around empty underground stations. Breathing in lifts becomes a thing. Running is to run undisturbed.

Living and working in a city is great, but you can’t escape the rat-race cliches: escalators of necks craning over phones and commuters rearranging themselves in a suited Rubik’s cube to allow a train door to close; the struggle to find a space in a pub and the very British request to “perch” at the end of someone else’s table. “Excuse me, is this chair free?”

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