Not a lot of people can say they woke up in Scotland.

A handful of Scottish people, maybe.

But then again, most of the Scots I’ve met don’t describe it that way.

Admitting the world is grey, that’s how I’ve heard it.

And grey was the word for the day. Color of the light, dropping its mention through the window, dimensions one by one. A reminder of where I was. Couple of empty bottles in my head, open transcript of what went right the previous night. Half covered by a dusty quilt, sprawled over a spongy mattress, springs phoning it in. Boxes piled high against the wall. Consequent rows gradually stacked lower, meeting the bed in single units. A storage deposit for what must have been an amazing life.

Half naked body next to me, reminding me of all that was left to be thankful for.

Three hours of sleep tucked under my belt, and I sent my hands over her body, if only to assure myself this was the one thing I didn’t deserve.

Kate stirred. Took hold of my arms, wrapped them around her breasts, then sent them down her body. My lips pressed against her neck, and I sensed the two of us anxious to rid ourselves of the same thoughts. Tight knit  haircut giving room for my breath to accelerate along her shoulders, down her back, tongue looking to perform a soft, wet spinal tap. She turned towards me. Turned towards me, and through the headache and misunderstanding of what had brought me there, she smiled. Grassy eyes wide, flecks of a Celtic sky matching our surroundings. 

“Please tell me you slept,” she said.

I brought my fingers up to her forehead.

Wished there was some other chance for a better tomorrow: “I slept.”

She kissed me.

I kissed her back, and it filled in for absent hues.

And grey was the color of the sky, and sunshine, a spotlight, highlighting a room on the outskirts of a strange Scottish city.

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so long and thanks for all the pish.