Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

FUCKIN GLESSED! NAE CUNT LEAVES HERE UNTIL AH FIND

OOT WHAE FLUNG THAT FUCKIN GLESS!
    He's barkin orders at innocent couples, shoutin instructions at the bar staff. Thing is, the draftpak cunts ur lappin this up.
    – S awright mate. We kin handle this! Double Voddy n Coke sais. Ah cannae hear whit Begbie sais, but it seems tae impress Double Voddy. Then the Beggar goes tae the barman: – YOU! PHONE THE FAAHKIN POLIS!
    – NAW! NAW! NAE POLIS! shouts one ay the draftpak psychos. These cunts've obviously goat records the length ay yir airm. The perr cunt behind the bar's shitein hissel, no kennin whit tae dae.
    Begbie stands erect, neck muscles tensed. His glare sweeps aroond the bar n up tae the balcony.
    – WHAF SAW ANYTHIN? YOU CUNTS SEE ANYTHIN? he shouts at a group ay guys, Merchant school, Murrayfield type cunts, who ur crappin themselves.
    – No. . . one guy wobbles out.
    Ah gits doon, telling Haze n June no tae move fae the balcony bar. Begbie's like a psychopathic detective oot ay an Agatha Christie whodunit, cross–examinin every cunt. He's blowin it; it is so fuckin obvious. Ah'm doon thair, stickin a fuckin bar–towel oan the draftpak's split heid, tryin tae stem the blood. The cunt just growls at us, n ah dinnae ken whether that's um showin gratitude or ready tae stomp ma baws, but ah cairry oan.

    34

    One fat cunt fae the group ay psychos goes up tae this other group ay guys at the bar n sticks the heid oan one ay them. The place goes up. Lassies scream, guys issue threats, push each other and exchange blows as the sound ay brekin gless fills the air. This boy's white shirt is saturated wi blood as ah push through some bodies tae git back up the stairs tae Hazel n June. Some cunt gubs us oan the side ay the face. Ah hud half–saw it fae the corner ay ma eye n moved away n time, so ah didnae git the fill force ay it. Ah turn roond and this radge's sayin: – Come ahead wide–o. Come ahead.
    – Way tae fuck ya radge, ah say, shakin ma heid. This gadge's ready tae come, but his mate grabs his airm, a good thing, because ah'm no ready fir him. The cunt looks a wee bit tidy, like he could punch his weight.
    – Fuckin stey ootay it, Malky. It's fuck all tae dae Wi that boy, his mate sais. Ah move oan smartly. Haze n June come doon the stairs Wi us. Malky, ma assailant, is panelling some other cunt now. A gap has cleared in the middle ay the flair n ah steer Haze n June through it towards the door.
    – Mind the burds, pal, ah say tae these two guys whae or aboot tae swedge, n one dives for the other one, allowing us tae slip past. Ootside the bar in the Rose Street precinct Begbie n this other cunt, it's Double Voddy, or bootin fuck oot ay this perr bastard oan the deck. – FRAAHNK! June gies oot a bloodcurdling scream. Hazel's edging away fae me, tuggin at ma hand.
    – FRANCO! C'MOAN! ah shout, grabbin his airm. He stoaps tae examine his work, but brushes ma grip oaf. He turns tae look at us, and fir a minute, ah think he's gaunnae panel us. It's like he doesnae see us, doesnae recognise us. Then he goes: – Rents. Nae cunt fucks Wi the YLT. Thuv goat tae fuckin learn that Rents. Thuv goat tae fuckin learn that.
    – Cheers pal, sais Double Voddy, Franco's accomplice in slaughter. Franco smiles at him, and boots the cunt in the baws. Ah felt it.
    – Ah'll gie ye fackin cheers, ya cunt! he sneers, smacking Double Voddy in the face, knocking him ower. A white tooth flies like a bullet oot ay the guy's mooth, and lands a few feet away on the precinct tiles.
    – Frank! What ur ye daein! June shrieks. We're pulling the cunt doon the road as polis sirens fill the air.
    – That cunt, that cunt n his fuckin mates back thair, that's the cunts thit fuckin stabbed ma brar! he shouts indignantly. June looked beaten down.
    That wis bullshit. Beggar's brother, Joe, was stabbed in a fight in a pub at Niddrie years ago. The fight wis ay his am makin, and he wisnae badly hurt. In any case Franco and Joe hated each