Saturday, 11 June 2011
Lobey
Lobey Dosser stares intae his pint. ‘Jeez,’ he cries. ‘ I must be getting auld.’
He sips anither moufay. Sips. ‘Aye.’ he thinks, ‘here’s me. Nae mair sluggin. Sweetheart stoot instead ae McEwans. Whisky jist a memory…’
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