A’m breathin in the fresh air deeply through ma nostrils. We’re marchin along wae that liberated feelin. Strange, how even a night’s incarceration kin leave yi feelin appreciative ae the freedom yi take fur granted. A glance towards Big Kenzie, lookin older n wiser aboot it aw. Ma mind goes tae Michelle, who probably waited fur us and left alone. A feel sad aboot that n A want tae meet hur n see ma eld pal wae hur. Someone special hus the power tae change yir life fur the better. A hope she’ll dae that fur him. He’s a mental bastard, but always a good cunt.

We’re nearly there, walkin by rough-casted council hooses n unkempt gardens wae metal fences. Beyond the park n the eld bridge, by the shop n the lane, the orange backs ae blinds n curtains glow in the dark. We reach the Orange Hall n bounce in. The place is quiet. Nae music is playin fae the jukebox n there’s nae laughin or singin tae be heard. The warmth greets us when we walk in the door n our arms n hands sting fae the cold ootside. We’re faced wae aboot ten heeds in the bar n the usual eld punters. Aw the troops ir here. Broonie n Briggy ir standin by the pool table but no playin. Carlyle n Dalzell ir there anaw. Gunny, Danny n Kenzie ir sittin on the benches. Addison is sittin wae Big Rose, Finnegan, n Toni n Amanda. Monica is standin right in front ae me. A look at Big Kenzie n shrug. Yi never seen everycunt in here. ‘Wit’s the occasion, troops?’

Monica bursts oot greetin. ‘Aw shit. Wit’s wrong?’

‘Naw, son. Sit down.’

‘How? Wit is it?’

It’s only then A see these cardboard cut-oots ae aw ma pals. They aw stare at pints or halves. Even the die-hard Celtic fans ir here. A look towards the young wans. Wee Briggy is greetin in the corner n Broonie is holdin him up. Aw the young wans ir sobbin away intae themselves. Ma ain elder pals ir lookin red-eyed tae. The lassies ir aw the same, tears n runnin mascara. A glance back tae Monica. ‘Wit’s happened?’ She sobs again. Big Kenzie is glancin around n headin tae the bar. He knows wit’s comin n goes tae git the drinks in in anticipation. Fresh tears fill Monica’s eyes n she holds us tight, before shakin hur heed.

‘Wit is it? Tell me, Monica. A’m just oot the cells. Suhin bad’s happened eh?’

‘Wee Toffey’s been stabbed, Azzy. He’s gone.’

Last of the Mohicans

It’s dark n rainin, the usual purple haze n orange ae the lamps. A bounce oot ma motor when A see them standin at the lane just aff the high street. They’re smokin a joint oot the way ae the camera’s beady eye. A kin see Matty n his skanky burd laughin n talkin in oot the rain. Ma hood is up n A’ve git a Rangers scarf roon ma nose n mouth. They’ve no seen me marchin up the lane n he doesnae see the first punch. A’m aw over the top ae him n he’s roarin aboot it wisnae him n he’s sorry. A’m bootin fuck oot his heed. It isnae particularly makin me feel better but A’m fuckin oot ae control, no stoppin. His mad burd tries tae scratch ma eyes oot n A stick the heed on hur. She falls wae a broken nose, splattered everywhere. Azzy, stoap fuck! Stoap! Matty is shoutin fae the deck. The two ae them ir fucked, lyin on the ground. A stand back shocked at wit A’ve done n sprint like fuck back up the lane n bounce intae ma motor n fly away …