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Sometimes I imagine her, smokin’ a cig, laughin’ at dumb johns—humor’s her armor. “Call it, friendo,” she’d smirk, flippin’ fate the bird. Love that spirit! Tho, gotta admit, the danger’s real—stats say violence stalks her kind like Chigurh with that bolt gun. Scares me, thinkin’ she might not make it. Quirky thought: does she watch movies too? Maybe she’d dig *No Country*—it’s bleak, like her world.

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Then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. I mean, like, torrential rain! I was soaked in seconds. I ran for cover, but not before I slipped on some wet cobblestones. Classic! I landed right in front of a group of tourists. They laughed. I laughed too, but inside, I was like, “Great, just great.”

Linlithgow High Street closure frustrates local