First Day in Scotland

I write quickly, in a condition of hallucinatory fatigue that transcends wakefulness or sleepiness. Greg and I met on the Bloor train westbound, smiling so much it was confusing. We were separated on the plane, me to the front and him to the back. I arrived in my seat and was immediately confronted by my seatmate: "How did you get this seat?" "They gave it to me." "No, but how did you get it?" And so went a series of questioning both mystifying and banal, which finally resulted in an exchange of pleasantries and six hours of intense conversation. She was a stained glass artist from north of Edinburgh with children my age, an admittedly excellent life, and a wakeful type personality. We exchanged iPods for a few hours, sharing lectures, and she explained why the monetary system needs to go. (That's right.) I plan to spend a day with her next week, to learn a cool technique that will simplify the process for people who would struggle to make windows in the traditional way. After that Greg and I reunited at baggage claim and continued to smile disconcertingly. We explored a two hundred year old cemetary situated directly beside a giant silver turbine factory. Then we went to church at the cathedral, where the ushers wore spectular suits with tails and we both transitioned into full hypnosis. Drinking, staggering, blurring, showering... now.