Talking to Graham.

Last night we were smoking on Rupert street, and Graham stoped and asked for a cigarette. He was a slim middle-aged low-voiced Glaswegian with a crazy spark in his eyes, long grey coat and headphones hanging from his neck. It was foggy and there was an orange light behind him, the street was wet and reflecting the purpule/orange colours of Glasgow at night. Our conversation was the best thing that has happened in a long time.