I was in the lovely town of Pitlochry in Scotland with my brother and we were looking for something called the "fish ladder." We asked an old woman who was walking along clutching a grocery bag if she could point us in the right direction. She responded angrily, I think, in a language that might have been Pict. After assessing the dumb looks on our faces for a moment, she pointed and said, "That way," and trundled off.
It brought to mind a nearly identical encounter with Mrs. Crenshaw, shown here directing me and Gus to the Tintagrew pocket park where Marvin was waiting for us to show up for a cookout.
It brought to mind a nearly identical encounter with Mrs. Crenshaw, shown here directing me and Gus to the Tintagrew pocket park where Marvin was waiting for us to show up for a cookout.