Eparistera Daimones

It was raining today, raining stupids, and the streets of Glasgow were flooded.
What the hell is it about rain that turns folks brains into broccoli florets? Every box junction was filled with vehicles, every red light had cars driving past it. Every green man crossing had the hidden danger of lighting my fuse as cars sat halfway across it, held on the clutch, crawling minutely forwards. A car is quickly devalued by an anarchist pedestrian, they really aught not to put themselves into the line of fire.
Then there’s the Dawn of the Dead Shoppers. Folk stopping abruptly in doorways to gaze at their iPhones, couples arguing across the exit of escalators, junkies and neds in soaking cotton hoodies trying to look they’re hurrying on important business as hypothermia takes hold, and everyone under 25 dressed like it’s the 1980’s. Skinny leg jeans, yeah, I’m getting my ass into some of those (again), and growing a fringe to go with it.  Haven’t had a fringe since, I dunno, 1982? Oh wait, I’ve only got 17 follicles left at the front, I’ll need to do a comb-over, it’ll give me the right look anyway.
I was excited in Kinning Park, it’s not a park, it’s a bit of Glasgow’s south side. The excitement was due to the M74 looking like a proper road now at the Kinning park junction, white lines are creeping onto the flyover now. Soon Glasgow’s bypass will be bypassed, and rightly so.
I can eat no more flapjack. Oot.

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