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About Glasgow

Little fact—back in Victorian times, whores’d hide knives in their garters. Badass, right? Stab a john if he got handsy. Bet they still got tricks like that—modern garters, maybe tasers. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—I see it, mate, the grit, the hustle. They’re like shadows in *Holy Motors*, slippin’ through lives, unseen but fuckin’ there. “The beauty of the act!”—that’s their game, performin’, dodgin’ judgment.

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So, I’m fuming, right? I decide to walk it off. I head down to Cathcart Street, thinking maybe a coffee will help. I pop into this little café called The Coffee Pot. It’s cozy, and the barista is this cool dude named Jamie. I order a flat white, and he’s like, “You look like you need a double shot.” I laugh, but inside, I’m like, “You have no idea, mate.”

Officer books Irish Guineas ticket with Tetrarch success