Eck is headin fur the entrance, walkin wae purpose towards the front door. He looks incongruous amongst the other shoppers hustlin n bustlin plastic bags n trollies. He disappears intae the foyer ahead. A’m a few paces behind Tam n A kin just make oot our eld mate bobbin in the crowd. The security guard growls at us when we walk in. He’s a fat eld cunt wearin his hat low like a sergeant major. Eck disappears doon the corridor wae the toilet signs n the baby-change facilities. Kenzie’s marchin ahead ae me. He stands n waits at the door fur a minute. We both know the sketch. Neither ae us particularly want tae verbalise the thought though.

The door creaks open slowly. The toilets ir quiet apart fae the buzz ae the lights. The two above the sink ir yir usual square yellow wans, but the two above the cubicles ir a shade ae royal blue. There’s the spark n scratch ae a disposable lighter. He doesnae hear two sets ae trainers meetin the linoleum floor. Yi kin smell the flint’s smoke n the cheap, industrial bleach. Tam stands back n boots the cubicle door open in wan swift go. Eck lets the end ae his belt fall n looks up wae his black mouth aghast. He lets oot a half smirk n sits back on the pan. The belt is wrapped tightly roon his arm but there’s nae blue veins tae be seen, just our eld mate wae a spoon, a needle n syringe n a wee dirty-lookin wrap restin on his lap. Junky paraphernalia.

Takin smack is a capital offence tae us. We wur born in the nineties n in the time since heroin hud made its mark n is fuckin hated in the schemes. Cunts who take it ir outcasts, nae doubt fuelled by the AIDS crisis – which tae us wis just PSE in school n no really seen as a heterosexual, non-heroin takin, majority problem. It isnae really a conscious thought, but it’s hardwired intae us fae generations past that this is an evil thing. If any yir troops take it, yi wur told by elder wans tae leather them n banish them fae the young team, otherwise cunts wid call yees aw junkies n that is unthinkable.

Eck knows that himsel. He sticks the needle intae an orange translucent cover n sits it back on the cistern n slips the belt aff his arm. He puts the brown wrap in his pocket n sits back in resignation. That’s the red rag that Big Kenzie is waitin fur. A hear a sharp intake ae breath fae each nostril. There’s nae words spoken. Eck’s lookin at me fur respite but A’ve nuhin tae add n A stand lookin at ma shoes. Tam takes a step back n volleys the heed aff him. Trainer toe meets nose n splatters over the plastic cubicle wall. A see thick red sprayed over pastel magnolia. Tam unleashes fury on his face, punchin n kickin wildly. A try tae pull him back. He spits on the floor next tae his eld best mate n turns tae leave. The door flies open n the security guard bursts in n rugby tackles Tam tae the deck. Another two workers ir tryin tae wrestle me tae the ground in the toilet. A put the first on his arse n follow a thunderous right wae a lightnin left tae his pal. Both ae them fall like a set ae skittles. Noo it’s me tacklin the guard n Tam kickin him in the face on the deck. We’re aw shoutin our heeds aff n A’m pullin Big Kenzie back tae his feet n oot the door.