remote cards

Saturday lunch time and the city is buzzing. The street cleaner grinds by, brushes churning away, while a Billy Connolly impersonator tries to sell people trips to Blackpool, where he will be putting on a tribute show. Up Buchanan Street a homeless guy rubs his eyes, wobbles, struggling to stay awake. The guy who does the balloon animals pushes his cart along, the little jack russell trotting along by his side. There are football colours scattered around the crowds, teams playing today. A group of American kids, tourists who’ve just hit the Celtic Supporters Shop, freshly kitted out in jackets and bags for the team. Further up on the street, one of the members of the Scottish Opera Company stands on the steps of the Royal Concert Hall, belting out Nessun Dorma to drum up some business. A man walks by, long haired metal kid, with a long fox tail appearing out the back of his jacket - several feet long, bushy, and artificial and a little odd. Round the corner a one armed man crouches in a door way, playing the mouth organ, begging for coins. A group of bag pipes chat to man with an orange suit case, an orange bowler hat, both on their way to do their next street sets. You stop for long enough, a crowd will gather and take your picture, they stop for everyone.