midway through the show, my soul took a step back and asked, how and why did you end up at a scottish hoedown, watching a sex god sing about new shoes and an elderly gentleman play a cymbal while wearing a hawaiian shirt - but then i looked up at paolo nutini, serenading me like ray charles with his eyes all closed and smiling in that innocent blind person way as sweat rolled down his face and onto the stage, and QUESTION ANSWERED. i dont care that he all but regurgitated onstage. i don't care that the first time we came into contact, it was when he was sitting barefooted on a bucket, playing a melodica (thx grl). THE HEART WANTS ... WHAT IT WANTS.
naturally, ciera has zero interest in paolo himself & takes a liking to lisa simpson, the sax player. or gavin. whatever. GOOD TO HAVE YOU ON BOARD, BIFFLE!
i am sorry, but i am jealous of myself.
"THIS IS SHIT. TAKE ANOTHER."
see you in otown!!