Part One: Hubie
Hubie lay on the bed, strumming absent-mindedly on an acoustic guitar. He wasn’t sure if he even had the energy to write a new song. He almost felt like if he started Terry would be knocking on the door, wanting to know all about it.
He had the door open to the balcony and a cool breeze was flowing through. From his spot on the bed, he could see across the city. He loved this place. He knew the reputation of Glasgow crowds, hell he had played here many times now and it never failed to be a classic.
He looked at his developing beer belly and wished he was in better shape. He sighed.
The pictures on the TV screen.
Bombings, murder, death.
He remembered the peace marches he had gone on. He flicked through his phone at the pictures. He felt he was just another voice to help.
But those days were gone.
He walked out to the balcony and looked over the city.
Paul Andrew Sneddon 