Possibly right?

When you walk down Charing Cross Road from Leicester Square tube station, you come to St. Martin's in the Field. From there turn left and you shall be at the end of St. Martin's Lane. The narrow opening allows only a trickle of traffic to pass through, only to be forced left, away from Trafalgar Square. Congestion builds and engines buzz. When a car attempts an illegal turn right, angry taxes beep their horns behind. Pedestrians also slow the traffic. The arrogance of everyone, tourist or native, enables them to hold the roads as kings. Their right of way across the bottom of St. Martin's causes the occasional bottle-neck, but tensions are never raised. It is an expected way of life in the centre of London, when the crowds must either learn to live with each-other or tear each other apart. Thankfully the former is adopted. The walk down Charing Cross Road is scattered with tour-bus conductors patiently dealing with the tourists eager to mount the bus. If they have children, they cling to them tightly, and sometimes raise them up on their arms and share with them the excitement. They start to board the bus as you walk past them. Ahead a mass of clothes heaped on top of each-other trundles towards you. It takes a second for you to realise that it is the local homeless lady who occasionally patrols these streets. Her old wrinlked face is barely visible from the heap of clothes that covers everything, but leaves only her small hands and face free. She pushes her small trolley past, and as you look down to see her, she looks up. That is all; you walk on. Bearing left you pass the bank and eventually come across the bottled-necked bottom of St. Martin's Lane. Looking up to your left, the imposing brown building of The Coliseum confronts you, boasting the season on English Opera and the visiting Bolshoi Ballet this summer. Craning your neck further back you take in the tall sight of the revolving Coliseum sphere at the very top of the building. The building has a superficial elegance to it. It is a pleasant image of a powerful and respectable building, welcoming onlookers with its diminuitive granduer that seems rather confined inbetween other buildings. Smaller than expected it boasts a large theatre inside, but the onlookers don't know that. They stand outside and take photos mainly. It is only the regular ENO audiences and visiting opera enthusiasts that venture inside. To the Coliseum you don't go. Instead you look down to its right and see a small shop. Its blue door and window frames stand out, and you are drawn to it. You walk across the road, adding ever so gently to the congestion, and stand at the shop's window display. The selection of stock was an intriguing mix of opera and world cinema. You get the idea, but decide to go in anyway.