The snow. It makes the pavement white even under the dull orange glow of the streetlamps. That’s probably due to refraction or something but there is a time and a place for science and this isn’t it. Religious exposition is on its way for what else could this be other than a holy mission to bring me from the frozen hell of the east coast to…the slightly less frozen hell of Glasgow?
And so it was on the third night of the advent calendar that a Bluesbunny and his trusty donkey made it to The Common Rooms on Byres Road to worship at the altar of Louise McVey and Cracks in the Concrete. Look first in the big mirror behind them and count the reflections of those soon to be enslaved. Vampires are something that I can handle. Music. A discordant guitar disguises the presence of decadent melodies – oh, the pen targeted precision of “Muse” strikes directly at me and crushes what is left of my objectivity – throughout like oblique incantations to a demon never seen. Those words. The Devil is a woman. Yes, those words indicate their true purpose. To enchant. To draw the unwary into the shadows. The Devil has to do something on a Friday night and no woman would have such a voice unless she was a creature of the darkness. The ultimate creature of the darkness.
Out in to the night. I feel the cold. I must therefore be alive. The dead, after all, feel nothing.