— Right … sound. Eh … Hibs did awright oan Setirday.
— Ah ken how fuckin Hibs did, Spud. Thuv goat fuckin papers n telly in here, ya daft cunt, the cat shakes his heid.
Ah sortay try another approach. — Did ye see that programme the other night aboot the apes ay Gibraltar? That wis barry, man. Ah’d nivir thought aboot apes before, well, ah’d thoat ay thum, likesay, but no really thoat aboot thum, if ye ken whit ah mean. But this really made ye think, ken? Thaire wis this one ape –
He pure raises his hand tae silence us, like he’s a Roman emperor or something. — Nivir saw it, he sais, endin the conversation. Then he goes, — How’s the airm?
— Barry, man, brand new, like it nivir happened.
— Telt ye it wis gaunny be awright! Fuckin fuss tae make aboot a broken airm! Ya cunt, ah thoat ye wir fuckin deid the wey ye wir kirrayin oan!
— Right, eh, sorry, man, ah goes, then ah tells him that Rents and Sick Boy send thair best fae London, which is kinday a lie cause they jist take the pish when his name gits mentioned, but jist as a sortay mates thing, likesay. No thit the Beggar Boy wid likesay appreciate that but. The thing is, though, underneath it aw, ah think he really is gled tae see us. It’s jist the gadge’s wey, ken?
But seein a caged man isnae very good fir the soul, likesay, so ah’m delighted tae git oot they prison gates n back intae the real world. No thit it’s much better oot here. If thaire’s nowt tae dae in the nick, it’s sortay the same ootside, withoot the waws. But at least in the chokey the three square meals ur provided, ken? Boredom, man. It’s like a wee tap inside ye, drippin oot acid intae yir gut. Eatin away at aw yir organs. In bed at night it’s the worst. Ah try an stretch ma limbs out, but before ah sortay ken it ah’m aw cramped again, ma fists balled, talkin a load ay weird, scared stuff tae masel. Cannae be good fir a cat, man.
N ootside its aw nash, stoorie and bomb wi some cats, likesay, ken? Could never dae wi hurryin aboot masel, even though ah wis ey a dead fast runner at school. Bit bein twenty-one n huvin the key tae the door but, you’ve jist goat tae sit back n mellow oot, likesay. Too much chargin aboot: it’s killin us aw, man. The rat race n that. Stressed if yuv goat a joab, stressed if ye huvnae. Everybody oot fir themselves, at each other’s throat n daein each other doon. Nae solidarity nae mair, ken? The work is ower, it’s aw gaun, n thaire’s nae particular place tae go.
Ma mooth’s been feelin awfay dry the day, but ah pit that doon tae that weird broon skag ah got at Johnny’s last night. Thought the cat wis extractin the urine when he brought it oot, cause it looked mair like cocoa powder thin Salisbury Crag, ken? Ah wis aboot tae start singing: ‘Cup hands, here comes Cadbury’s!’ But he sais it was aw he could git. Ah lifts ma shirtsleeve n deeks at this scratchy sore oan ma airm. Ah poke it n some yellay pus oozes oot. Ah jist rolls that sleeve doon sharpish; aw, man, ah cannae even look at that …
As ah gits oaf the bus back at Leith, the last gadgie ah expect tae see in a tracky, poundin the windswept boulevards ay the fair port, is Second Prize. — Hey, Rab, man, ah goes as the cat comes hoppin intae view oan Bonnington Road.
— Spud … he goes, n he stoaps but keeps runnin oan the spot as he sortay raps oot what he’s up tae between breaths, n ah git that he’s oaf the peeve n goat a new burd called Carol, whae’s a mate ay Alison’s, n he’s gittin fit again and talkin tae a boy at Falkirk aboot a trial, but he might phone the auld boss at Dunfy. Then he’s off, bouncin oan they Nike soles taewards Junction Strasse.
Well, it’s fabby tae see a boy oan the up. Lean n fit, no intoxicated, indulgin in hot sex wi a fräulein, wi the chance ay earnin a crust or two fae the beautiful game. When ye think aboot it, the cat’s goat the lot, man, but ah suppose that aw that means nowt if it’s aw badness n despair percolatin inside ay thon furry dome. Ah’m as jealous as, but, man, pure turnin as green as Jimmy O’Rourke in a cabbage patch.
But ah’ve goat a wee bitty business masel this affie, so ah’m turnin doon the Newhaven Road, Bowtow-bound. Whin ah gits tae the lock-up Matty’s awready thaire. Ah’ve goat tae say right fae the off that Matty’s one ay the few boys ah jist cannae git oan wi. It’s ey purely biz wi us, ken? N ah ken thit ah wis only asked tae help oot cause ay Rents n Sick Boy bein in London, Tommy no wantin involved, another cat loved up at the moment, n Franco now residin courtesy ay Her Majesty.
Used tae think aw the hostile vibe wis cause ay Matty bein fae the Fort n me bein fae the Kirkgate, which isnae oan the other side ay the world, but naw, cause Keezbo’s fae the Fort n Matty’s even worse wi him. But ah still do sortay think it’s that. They’ve goat a different mentality thaire fae every other cat in Leith; likesay me comin fae the Kirkgate or Sick Boy fae the Bannanay flats. These boys but, thair jist awfay, well, Fort in thair mentality, if ye git ma drift. So ah tries tae discuss this wi Matty. Ah goes, — Youse Fort cats huv goat tae huv a defensive mentality cause yir in this scheme thit’s called the Fort, thit looks like a Fort, n yis are actually wawed in, like yir bein kept apart fae the rest ay Leith. See, likesay me or Sick Boy, we’re schemies, we’ve goat that Edina Cooncil rent book n aw, but we’re sortay expansive, cause we’re no wawed in like youse cats. We’ve goat the open sea ahead. Bound tae breed a different mentality, Matty, but. Ken?
The likesay Rents or Sick Boy or Keezbo would pure git intae discussin this point, but Matty jist goes, — Cunt, ah’m gittin the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes. She wants it, bit ah’m no that bothered, eh, no.
N that’s it, man. That’s the level ay conversation. It makes us think thit Matty wid nivir make it in the world ay rock n roll; ah mean, even if he wis likesay better oan the guitar. Ah mean, imagine that cat in the studio wi Frank Zappa n the Mothers ay Invention, thir gittin up tae aw thair high jinks n he jist turns roon n goes, ‘Ah’ve goat the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes.’ Ah mean, how ur they cats gaunny respond tae that, likesay? ‘Barry, gadgie, lit’s dae some acid.’ Ah mean, yuv goat tae sortay pill yir weight in the social situ, ken?
So wir jist loadin n unloadin different boaxes ay delinquent durables fae the van tae the lock-up, n it’s no hoat at aw but ah’m still pure sweatin. N ah’m telling Matty aboot Swanney’s weird broon, but he’s jist sayin, ‘Aye, it’s true, thaire’s nae white aroond.’ Then ah starts talkin aboot visitin Franco, n it turns oot thit Matty’s been tae see um n aw. N it’s a wee bit ay chat at last! He’s gaun oan aboot how Franco wis oan at him aboot the likes ay Swanney n this other gadge Seeker n Davie Power but ah realise ah cannae really hear what he’s sayin cause everything’s went aw distorted and blurred. Ah feel dizzy n ah huv tae sit doon oan the concrete n ah’m thinkin, wis that gear ah did yesterday right dodgy or what …? Ah look at the pus-filled scab oan my airm whaire ah shot it up, but it wis wi ma ain works n Keezbo did some n aw …
— Cunt, what’s up wi you? Ah hear Matty’s voice, as ah look up intae the weak sunlight. — C’moan, ya mongol, wuv goat tae git this sorted oot!
Ah’m no right here. Something’s wrong. Ah’m fucked. Ah feel seek n likesay everything aroond us is aw dark n looks miles away … — Ah huv tae go tae the hoaspital, Matty, ah’m gaunny die, likesay …
— Cunt, what’s wrong wi ye?
— Ah’m away, man, n ah stagger tae ma feet n it’s like bad dream n Matty’s sayin how’s he meant tae unload aw they boaxes oan his tod, but ah’m right staggerin like a wino up oantae the Ferry Road. Ah puke up n faw ower, hudin oantae the railins n this wifie n her bairn are askin us if ah’m awright, n ah pill masel up n walk a bit doon the road … then …