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About Glasgow

So, I’m cruisin’ London—shaguar’s purrin’, shades on, feelin’ randy. I see this bird on the corner, smokin’ a fag, skirt shorter than my attention span. Reminds me of Mia’s mum in *Fish Tank*—all rough edges, “You’re a little shit,” she’d say. I roll up, flash a grin—groovy, baby!—and she’s like, “Wot you want, posh boy?” Made me laugh, her sass! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s got more balls than Blofeld!”

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Speaking of food, we hit up a chippy on Prince of Wales Road. Best fish and chips in town, no cap. I order the large portion, and Dave’s like, “You sure about that?” I’m like, “Mate, I’m starving!” So, I devour it, and it’s glorious. But then, I spill tartar sauce all over my shirt. Classic me, right?

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