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An older, inebriated Scot who looked like he’d been sitting on his barstool all day looked me up and down, then smelled the air. “Heh, neebr, goat a deid an’mal in yer bac’pac, or iz it ye tha’ bloody stinks?”My brain took a moment to translate. “Actually, yes, there is a dead animal in my backpack, but I probably stink, too.

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