Somewhere up near the castle, the tourists have mostly gone, the castle and "attractions" are closed, no invaders present. No unrest. Soldiers smoke a cigarette and dream of sleep. Drunks and those on their way home trip on the uneven slabs. Headed home except for the homeless, those who lead mysterious outside lives in shop doorways an hostels as they seek out warmth and food wherever they might find it. Nothing to see here, officer.
The city is cruel stone, red lights, dirty pavements, unobserved speed limits and rules. That feeling that nobody cares but everyone is watching, circling, spinning, trying to find a way past the old and the brutal, a way to make the city a better place. All that happens is the popping up of new fast food frontages, revised landlords, a restrained police presence and traffic mis-management. We are all captive here, no matter how free we believe ourselves to be. But you can escape, along the western approach road, via the A90, on a shooglie bus, jump a tram, take a late train to Dunbar. It's possible.
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