London

Well at least it's not scotch mist

For the first time I saw the Scotch in their natural habitat, and it weren't pretty.
Fishwife flesh puckered by the highland breeze, tight eyes peering out for fresh meat, screechy booze-soaked voices hollering out for a taxi to take em halfway up the road to the next all-night watering hole.
A shatter of glass, a round of applause. A sixteen-year old mother of three vomiting in an open sewer, bairns looking on, chewing on potato cakes.
I ain't never going back. Not never.

"You said some pretteh nasteh things"

This happens where I live probably a dozen mornings a year, and even more evenings. It's gorgeous, but not necessarily worth a newspaper article. Those city folks really are out of touch with nature, aren't they?

Meteorologists call for zombies by the end of the week