So it’s August of 2015 in Edinburgh, the beautiful chaotic capital of Scotland. I’m walking to my flat from the Cooperative, a bag of bullshit groceries in my bag. I get this feeling I forgot something so I start rooting through the bag. As I turn my head slightly down to inspect my purchases I catch the glimpse of aluminum out of the corner of my eye. And because I’m a bird brain, I can’t help but crane my neck to inspect the shiny object.
On a standard city bench, a clean cut gentleman in a standard business suit is holding a cigarette to his lips with his left hand and taking a long, thoughtful drag while he holds a can of beer in his right hand. He exhales and idly watches the smoke float away. He taps his cigarette with his finger and the ashes drop down and settle on the ground next to a six pack of beer. My eyes followed the ash and I notice the six pack and its twin on the ground next to it. Of 12 possible beers, only 9 soldiers remain.
I have nothing but respect for him.
In the American colonies, white collar workers go to bars or restaurants or home to get drunk, usually with friends. I’ve never seen someone in a suit plop down on a city bus bench and just say fuck it and crack open a tall boy and get to work. And to top it off, he couldn’t wait till he got home to start self medicating. I can’t blame him. The world is a hard place for sober people. And doesn’t that old adage go that you shouldn’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today? Why put off what you can chug in 25 minutes when you can chug it now?
This visionary is just seizing the moment.
And they say Scotland is not an independent country. With these kind of champions?