dinosaurs and roses in scowwwwtland

What’s not to like? Dinosaur Jr potted history, picturama playing “Sweet Child of Mine” in Scowtland, the placey where I left my heart. Ah, Edinburgh. I seemed to end up on the roof of most of its buildings. Apparently that’s the Scowwwtish way. All the good shit is above ground. I must go back and return to my natural state of Macavity. Haymarket, but no fucking hay, but taxi drivers wearing bandanas and screaming like Freddy Rodriguez at me, trying to sell me red buttons. Stoned and laughing at handbag-dancing women covered in curry and madness. People falling in front of me and me shouting at them, possibly wearing feather boa and screaming at the penguins at the zoo, who are fucking fast. Gotta go back. Madness beckons.

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