I came to London constantly, working with Ninja Theory on 'DmC

Host: The rain fell in thin, deliberate lines, like ink spilling from the sky. The streets of London shimmered beneath the lamplight, each puddle reflecting a cathedral of contradictions — old stone, new glass, and the occasional neon glow of a McDonald’s sign flickering like misplaced graffiti on history.

In a small corner café, tucked between a crumbling church and a modern office tower, Jack and Jeeny sat by the window. The hum of the city pulsed outside — buses hissing, footsteps echoing, horns and laughter mingling with the rhythm of rain.

Jeeny stirred her coffee absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the building across the street: a 19th-century facade, gothic arches above, fluorescent fast-food lights below.

Jeeny: “Hideaki Itsuno said, ‘I came to London constantly, working with Ninja Theory on DmC Devil May Cry, and I kind of fell in love with this amazing architecture — where you have these buildings that have clearly been around a long time, and they have this amazing gothic look, and then on the first floor, it’s a McDonald’s!’”

Jack: “That’s London for you. The city where history rents its basement to capitalism.”

Host: Jack’s voice carried that dry, sardonic rhythm that came only from someone who loved and distrusted the world equally. His eyes — sharp, grey, observant — caught every detail: the gargoyle above the McDonald’s sign, the red umbrella passing by, the glowing screens of phones lighting strangers’ faces like candles of the digital age.

Jeeny smiled, her expression soft yet amused.

Jeeny: “I don’t think he meant it cynically. I think he loved it — that clash. The old and the new. The sacred and the ordinary. It’s like London doesn’t erase its past; it just eats French fries under it.”

Jack: “That’s one way to romanticize gentrification.”

Jeeny: “It’s not gentrification I’m romanticizing. It’s coexistence. How many cities let time overlap so gracefully? It’s like walking through a museum that decided to stay alive.”

Jack: “Alive? It’s suffocating. Old buildings wrapped in billboards, stone gargoyles blinking under LED lights. You call it coexistence. I call it confusion.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that what makes it human? The confusion? The contradictions? That’s the poetry of cities. We’re all cathedrals with fast-food hearts, Jack.”

Host: Her words lingered like mist on the glass. Jack raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jack: “Cathedrals with fast-food hearts. You should copyright that before the city does.”

Jeeny: “I don’t want to own it. I just want people to see it. To see that beauty isn’t pure anymore — it’s layered. Messy. Like us.”

Host: The rain softened, turning the window into a canvas of moving reflections — streaks of light and shadow, ancient stone dissolving into neon signs, like memory bleeding into present.

Jack leaned back, folding his arms.

Jack: “So, you find poetry in corruption?”

Jeeny: “No. I find redemption in evolution.”

Jack: “Evolution? Or compromise?”

Jeeny: “What’s the difference?”

Host: A bus roared past, sending a wave of water splashing against the curb. The lights outside flickered, momentarily illuminating the curve of Jeeny’s face — thoughtful, defiant.

Jack: “Architecture used to mean integrity. Design built to last. Now everything’s modular, temporary — like we’re building cities we don’t believe in.”

Jeeny: “Maybe permanence isn’t the goal anymore. Maybe survival is.”

Jack: “So, we just stack glass boxes on history and call it progress?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes that’s what progress looks like — ugly, but alive.”

Host: Jack turned toward the window, staring at the McDonald’s sign glowing beneath a centuries-old archway. The irony wasn’t lost on him. It almost felt like a scene out of DmC Devil May Cry — beauty and decay locked in an endless waltz.

Jack: “Itsuno must’ve seen this city the way Dante sees demons — beautiful, tragic, chaotic. London’s a paradox that keeps selling itself.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why he fell in love with it. The imperfection. The fight between what was and what is. Creation always begins in contradiction.”

Jack: “Or ends in it.”

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve given up on the world.”

Jack: “No. Just accepted its sense of humor.”

Host: The rain picked up again, drumming softly against the glass. A couple walked by under one umbrella, laughing — their reflections sliced by the neon red of the McDonald’s sign. Inside, Jeeny drew shapes on the fogged window, tracing the outline of the gothic arch above the fast-food logo.

Jeeny: “You know, I used to think harmony meant everything fitting perfectly. But cities like this — they teach you harmony can also mean tension. Beauty beside ugliness. Faith beside greed.”

Jack: “That’s not harmony. That’s survival by proximity.”

Jeeny: “Same difference. We’re all just trying to coexist with what we’ve outgrown.”

Host: Jack chuckled softly, shaking his head. He reached for his coffee — cold now — and took a sip anyway.

Jack: “You ever think we’re like this city? Ancient souls, plastered with modern facades?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You hide your ruins under sarcasm, I hide mine under faith. But we’re both carrying centuries inside.”

Host: The clock above the counter ticked. A faint jazz melody hummed from a speaker near the bar. The café had thinned out — only the two of them remained now, their reflections merging with the night outside.

Jack: “So, you’re saying the McDonald’s under a cathedral is a metaphor for the human condition?”

Jeeny: “Everything is, if you’re willing to see it.”

Jack: “You think Itsuno saw that when he looked at this city?”

Jeeny: “I think he saw that beauty doesn’t die when the world changes — it adapts. Gothic arches and golden arches, side by side, and somehow it still works.”

Jack: “It shouldn’t.”

Jeeny: “Neither should we.”

Host: The silence that followed was soft, but not empty. Jack stared at her, then at the window again. Outside, the McDonald’s sign flickered, then steadied — its reflection trembling against the wet pavement, right below the solemn spires above it.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what makes this city alive — its refusal to pick a side.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And maybe that’s what makes people beautiful too.”

Host: The rain slowed to a drizzle, and for a brief, fragile moment, the street looked like it was holding its breath — time suspended between centuries.

Jack reached for his phone, snapping a photo of the gothic arches above the McDonald’s — the absurd harmony of the image.

Jeeny watched him, smiling.

Jeeny: “Capturing contradictions now?”

Jack: “Just proof that the world’s more interesting when it doesn’t make sense.”

Jeeny: “Welcome to faith.”

Jack: “Faith in what?”

Jeeny: “In the idea that beauty survives, even in strange places.”

Host: Outside, the rain stopped completely. The lights shimmered off the cobblestones, reflecting both heaven and hunger — stone and sign, dream and sale.

Jack and Jeeny sat in quiet awe of it all — the absurd, the miraculous, the human.

And as the night stretched deeper, the city seemed to whisper through the fog and glass:

That even the sacred must learn to share space with the ordinary,
and that even the ordinary can glow under gothic light.

Because in the end, every city — like every heart — is both cathedral and McDonald’s.