I was ready to get home and tear into this kebab; I had an early morning tomorrow and I let my friends bully me into one more (two more, three more, five more) drink(s). I needed to crash and I was just trying not to puke as I stumbled down Sauchiehall St when a woman shuffled out of the shadows ahead of me.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any cha- are you alright?” I said. She was soaked, and shivering; at first I thought she was homeless until I saw her heels and minidress, way too little for a Glasgow January but that’s Sauchiehall St for you. She lurched forward, limping, muttering something I couldn’t hear. “Urtsss,” she said. 

“Are you ok?” I asked again. “You got a ride home?” She stepped into the light, and I jumped back. Her eyes were black pits, her mouth smeared with red. She had a knife in one stiff arm. Her skin was grey and blue like a bruise; parts of her were peeling off like old paint. She moaned, rattling and wet.

“It hurtssss,” she said.


Oil on canvas, 28"x52", 2022.