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About Glasgow

So, I’m drivin’, windows down, feelin’ like a rockstar—‘cause who doesn’t wanna be William Miller, chasin’ dreams? And bam, I see her—red heels, fishnets, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the night. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s Penny Lane, but dirtier!” That’s what she said! Ha! I pull over, heart’s poundin’—not gonna lie, I’m sweatin’ like a pig. “Hey, uh, hi!” I stammer—smooth, right? She smirks, “What’s your deal, weirdo?” I’m thinkin’, *Oh God, don’t screw this up, Michael!*

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So, I finish my drink and head out. I’m feeling a bit better, but then I see this kid on the corner of Brierfield’s Market Street. He’s selling homemade lemonade. I’m thinking, “Aww, bless him!” But then I see the price. £2 for a cup! I’m like, “What’s in this lemonade? Gold flakes?” I just shake my head and walk on.

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