my ma wants but; me, Carlotta and Louisa wi stacks ay bairns tae bring roond tae her place and spoil.
— Naw, stey young free and single for as long as ye can, Coke advises. — No that ah’ve any regrets, he qualifies stridently, though I know I’ll hear a fucking shedload of them in the pub once the drink starts to flow, — cause Maria’s a crackin lassie, never gied us a minute’s trouble. And the wee man, he’s brand new n aw.
Do you actually know how phenomenally fucking rideable your daughter is?
We emerge from the grey stairs intae blinding sunshine and take a stroll doon tae the Bay Horse in Henderson Street. Inevitably, Coke starts gabbing once the alcohol goes down. He has two moods: sober, morose and quiet, then drunk, slavering and noisy. — Heard that boy, the fitba player, your mate, took a bad doin in the Grapes.
That cunt Dickson again, I’ll wager. Still, it’s probably the one occasion it was warranted. — Rab McLaughlin. Second Prize, we call him, on account ay the number ay kickins he’s had. Always wants tae row when he’s pished. I’m sure he no only asked for it, but begged, I inform Coke, thinking that it’s only a matter ay time before he and Second Prize meet up and become best mates. I can see them now down at the hostel, swapping jakey tales of woe.
I’m getting a bit antsy. I should have called in at my mother’s, and I’m thinking ay daein some ay that gear ah got fae Johnny Swan. Rents made me agree we should wait a few days and shoot it together, but he’ll be stuck on the pish with Begbie now and probably heading for the cells in Queen Charlotte Street or the High Street with that psychotic wretch in tow. Now I’m wanting tae get shot ay Coke, but without alienating him, as I need tae maintain the open-house policy. That wee Maria is a frosty chicky, and I reckon it’ll take something special tae get intae those snooty wee keks. A case of the ugly ducking who becomes the swan overnight and starts tae sense her power. I see a Kathleen Richardson or Lizzie McIntosh No. 2 in the making; she needs tae get a taste of SDW meat before she develops the same cock-teasing habits. The fear that I might have missed the boat suddenly overwhelms me, and makes me think of how tae up my game.
So we trawl the pubs, heading towards the river, then going in a circle, ending up in the fucking Grapes. It’s against my better judgement, but I’m bursting for a pish, so needs must. By this time Coke is half blootered and hanging onto the bar, railing against some perceived injustice or other. I head tae the lavvy, now definitely tempted tae shoot up some mair ay that shit I got fae Johnny Swan. The barrel-like figure of the heathen Dickson stops me en route: — Get him oot ay here, okay?
— He’s no botherin anybody.
— He’s botherin me. Get him the fuck oot!
— Aye, awright, geez a minute. I turn and go intae the bogs.
That Dickheid is as wide as fuck, so ah resolve tae dae some ay this magnificent gear on the cunt’s premises. I have tae develop some expertise in cooking up and fixing, cause you know that sure as fuck Renton will be all anal about it. That cunt will have read everything on heroin by now, and be talking as if he invented the fucking stuff. So I sit on the bog, bolting the door and go through the ritual: lighter, spoon, cotton balls, Jif, water in small screw-on container, syringe, needle and, above all, gear. I don’t load up too much before whipping off my belt, daein ma airm the wey that Swanney creep showed us. Slide it in, like a plane landing, rather than jab it, like a helicopter. Ah find a vein easy, some ay us have fucking oil pipes in our airms, no wee lassie’s wiring like Rent Boy.
He shoots home … whae-hae-hae … this rush is going through me, but it’s probably just the adrenalin
…
Fuck
…
Is it fuck the adrenalin … ah’m being broiled fae the inside … surging up tae glory, glory
…
Jesus fuck, it’s strong gear and ah’m
— Naw, stey young free and single for as long as ye can, Coke advises. — No that ah’ve any regrets, he qualifies stridently, though I know I’ll hear a fucking shedload of them in the pub once the drink starts to flow, — cause Maria’s a crackin lassie, never gied us a minute’s trouble. And the wee man, he’s brand new n aw.
Do you actually know how phenomenally fucking rideable your daughter is?
We emerge from the grey stairs intae blinding sunshine and take a stroll doon tae the Bay Horse in Henderson Street. Inevitably, Coke starts gabbing once the alcohol goes down. He has two moods: sober, morose and quiet, then drunk, slavering and noisy. — Heard that boy, the fitba player, your mate, took a bad doin in the Grapes.
That cunt Dickson again, I’ll wager. Still, it’s probably the one occasion it was warranted. — Rab McLaughlin. Second Prize, we call him, on account ay the number ay kickins he’s had. Always wants tae row when he’s pished. I’m sure he no only asked for it, but begged, I inform Coke, thinking that it’s only a matter ay time before he and Second Prize meet up and become best mates. I can see them now down at the hostel, swapping jakey tales of woe.
I’m getting a bit antsy. I should have called in at my mother’s, and I’m thinking ay daein some ay that gear ah got fae Johnny Swan. Rents made me agree we should wait a few days and shoot it together, but he’ll be stuck on the pish with Begbie now and probably heading for the cells in Queen Charlotte Street or the High Street with that psychotic wretch in tow. Now I’m wanting tae get shot ay Coke, but without alienating him, as I need tae maintain the open-house policy. That wee Maria is a frosty chicky, and I reckon it’ll take something special tae get intae those snooty wee keks. A case of the ugly ducking who becomes the swan overnight and starts tae sense her power. I see a Kathleen Richardson or Lizzie McIntosh No. 2 in the making; she needs tae get a taste of SDW meat before she develops the same cock-teasing habits. The fear that I might have missed the boat suddenly overwhelms me, and makes me think of how tae up my game.
So we trawl the pubs, heading towards the river, then going in a circle, ending up in the fucking Grapes. It’s against my better judgement, but I’m bursting for a pish, so needs must. By this time Coke is half blootered and hanging onto the bar, railing against some perceived injustice or other. I head tae the lavvy, now definitely tempted tae shoot up some mair ay that shit I got fae Johnny Swan. The barrel-like figure of the heathen Dickson stops me en route: — Get him oot ay here, okay?
— He’s no botherin anybody.
— He’s botherin me. Get him the fuck oot!
— Aye, awright, geez a minute. I turn and go intae the bogs.
That Dickheid is as wide as fuck, so ah resolve tae dae some ay this magnificent gear on the cunt’s premises. I have tae develop some expertise in cooking up and fixing, cause you know that sure as fuck Renton will be all anal about it. That cunt will have read everything on heroin by now, and be talking as if he invented the fucking stuff. So I sit on the bog, bolting the door and go through the ritual: lighter, spoon, cotton balls, Jif, water in small screw-on container, syringe, needle and, above all, gear. I don’t load up too much before whipping off my belt, daein ma airm the wey that Swanney creep showed us. Slide it in, like a plane landing, rather than jab it, like a helicopter. Ah find a vein easy, some ay us have fucking oil pipes in our airms, no wee lassie’s wiring like Rent Boy.
He shoots home … whae-hae-hae … this rush is going through me, but it’s probably just the adrenalin
…
Fuck
…
Is it fuck the adrenalin … ah’m being broiled fae the inside … surging up tae glory, glory
…
Jesus fuck, it’s strong gear and ah’m
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