There's a man I see every morning on my way to work.  He's one of the multitudinous free-newspaper sellers - not sure which paper.
His adopted pitch is at the far end of the Sun Street Passage tunnel that extends out from the northern end of Liverpool Street Station.

He's always there, with a broad smile for his customers.  I never accept a paper, but he always smiles anyway.  As one enters the tunnel from the station end, he's there at the other end, framed in light from Primrose Street behind, his arms flung wide, a paper in each, smiling his enormous beneficent smile.

"Welcome", he seems to be saying, "Welcome to the City. Welcome to your day."

On such trifles great cities thrive.