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About Glasgow

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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So, I bail and hit up a chippy on Castle Street. Best fish and chips in town, no contest. I order the usual, and while I’m waiting, I overhear this couple arguing. They’re going at it about who left the lights on. I’m just there, munching my chips, thinking, “Get a grip, guys!”

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