Stay Well
My afternoon shift at Achnacarry has finished and I’m cycling through town along the River Ness to Starbucks, listening to a playlist that Therese has curated. I mouth the line, what the hell, buttercup, get a hobby, because Therese said it’s the best line in the song, and, even though I like the attitude with which the words, give him hell, are delivered, as always, I must defer.