Scottish band Trashcan Sinatras gave my brother the night of his life last night by playing a private house show in his living room for about 50 people. They ate his jambalaya, were incredibly polite and charming, and gave meaningful song dedications to their audience (although some weren't there for their dedication).
In post-celebratory fashion, Robbe and I have been talking in a Scottish accent all day. And by Scottish accent I mean I end up sounding like Scrooge McDuck from Mickey's Christmas Carol.
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