2Luce parks The Tardis on East Campbell Street, and she and Ross get out and grab their gear from the boot. They walk down the road onto Gallowgate, and just stand for a moment, looking across the busy main road at the iconic marquee of the Barrowland Ballroom, forty feet of neon yellow lettering against a backdrop of glowing blue and white shooting stars.
“Did he say he was meeting us outside?” Ross asks, staring at the marquee.
“Didn't say,” Luce replies. “Just said he'd get us here.” Aldo had broken tradition, choosing not to join the two of them for the drive to the gig. He'd sent Luce a text that morning, saying he was going to get there early to get a feel for the place, and would meet them when they arrived.
“Fuckin Barras, man,” Ross says, still looking up at the neon marquee, n
