Volume 12 (2006)
Plaid shirt.
Cold night.
Sitting on winter steps to a warm bar, with a half-finished cigarette in my
mouth and the taste of smoke in my nose. I'm a Sackville spartan with an
armor of tartan. An academic lumberjack with an ax to grind 'cause
there's no
bright blue ox on my arm. But I'm too lost in the labyrinth of my own
plaid
patterned shirt to notice your hoof clops. So stop trying: you're no Europa
and I ain't King Midas- you won't turn to gold at the touch of my hand.
- Ian Mullan
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