Glue by Irvine Welsh

and ma bus is comin. Ah’m no gaunny go tae war wi a nutter like Doyle over a few quid for copper, but eh’s gittin telt aw the same.
    Ah git oan the bus and climb upstairs. It’s turnin oot no a bad day. Ye git a barry view ay the castle fae the toap ay a bus gaun doon Princes Street. Traffic’s brutal but. Ye kin see how it is Glesgay people git aw upset aboot Edinburgh, cause they’ve nowt like the castle, thegairdins n shoaps n that. People say thir’s slums in Edinburgh, n that’s true, but the
whole
ay Glesgay’s a slum, n that’s the difference. That’s how thir like Apaches. Nutters like Doyle stand oot like a sair thumb through here, but ye’d nivir notice them in Glesgay.
    Ronnie Allison fae the boxin club gits oan. Ah’ve turned away but eh’s seen me n eh comes ower and sits beside ays. Eh’s clocked the Hibs skerf hingin oot ma poakit right away.
    — Aye, aye.
    — Ronnie.
    Eh nods doon at the skerf. — Ye’d be better spendin an eftirnoon doon the boxin club thin oan the terraces. Ah’m headin thair now.
    — Aye, you’re jist sayin that cause yir a Jam Tart, ah sortay half-jokes.
    Ronnie shakes ehs heid. — Naw, listen tae me Billy. Ah ken ye play fitba as well, n like watchin it, n aw that. Yir real talent’s as a fighter though. Mark ma words.
    Mibbe.
    — Aye, you’ve goat talent as a boxer, son. Dinnae throw that away.
    Ah want tae play fitba. For Hibs. Jist tae walk oot in the colours at Easter Road. Alan Mackie’ll nivir make it. They’ll see through him. Too flowery, a patter-merchant. — This is ma stoap, Ronnie, ah sais, risin n makin him git up tae lit ays oot.
    Eh looks at ays like eh’s an actor in that
Crossroads
, the bit whaire they come back at the end fir a one-liner, eftir ye think it’s aw finished. — Mind what ah sais.
    — See ye, Ronnie, ah goes, turnin n spinnin doon the staircase tae the bottom deck n the doors.
    It wisnae really ma stoap, ah’d be better steyin oan tae the next yin, but it wis good tae be oan ma ain. Wi aw the traffic oan Princes Street, I’d be nearly as quick walkin doon tae the Wimpy.

Andrew Galloway
Lateness
    In a wey it wis Caroline Urquhart’s fault that we wir late. Yesterday in reggie she wis wearin that broon skirt wi the wee buttons up the sides n they tights wi the big patterned holes that go up the inside and the ootside ay her leg. Ah wis thinkin aboot it whin muh Ma woke ays up wi tea n toast. — Hurry up Andrew, the boys’ll be roond in a minute, she said, as she eywis did.
    Ah lit the tea go cauld, cause ah wis thinkin aboot if the holes in her tights went right roond then thir would be one where her fanny wis, n if she wis wearin nae pants aw that ah’d need tae dae wid be tae lift that skirt up n poke ma cock in, n fuck her acroass the desk in English while nae other cunt would be able tae see or hear, like one ay they films or dreams whin they’d aw jist be lookin at the board, n the soak thit ah keep under ma mattress hus come oot n it’s roond ma stiff cock n Caroline’s goat the eye make-up n lip gloss oan, n her face is set in that strict, superior wey, like whin we wir oan oor bikes doon Colinton Dell n we saw her hand-in-hand wi that lucky big auld dirty cunt that’s aboot thirty or somethin, bit naw, she’s wi me now n she wants it aw right n . . .
    . . . uugghhh . . .
    . . . beuh . . . beuh . . . beuh . . .
    . . . the soak’s filled up again.
    It took ays a minute tae come tae ma senses. Muh new earring wis still in fae the night before. Ah hud it oan again up the club at the table tennis. Last Friday but, ah minded tae take it oot cause Miss Drew sends ye tae that cunt Blackie if yuv goat one oan at the school. Ah dug oot ma chinos (the cunt banned Levi’s n aw), the dessy boots, the blue Fred Perry n the yellay n black zipper baseball toap.
    Gulpin back the tea ah ran through fir a quick wash ay ma face. Ah could hear the cunts doonstairs at the door; Billy n Carl. Muh