The six ae us sprint at them, still shoutin like fuck in the middle ae the road. Their two tap boys run up towards us wae their arms oot, geein it straight back, pure bold cunts. Taz grabs an empty wine bottle fae the pavement n swings it at that Si’s heed. The two ae them start punchin fuck oot ae wan another. Me n Danny run fir JP. He skuds Danny wae a beauty ae a right, but he’s a big cunt n rides it. BANG. Danny hits him a fuckin haymaker n he stumbles on the kerb. A jump up n hit him a triple combo, a big dirty right, a wee cheeky left n a finisher. The cunt’s eyes go funny as he hits the deck. He’s sparkled but he’s awright cos his sleeve is comin up tae wipe his splattered nose. Si n Taz are still scrappin over next tae a parked motor. Broonie n Addison ir chasin the two other cunts back doon the road. Their other mate, the elder wan, is pannelin fuck oot ae Finnegan. Danny sprints towards them first n A follow.

‘HAW YOU, YA FUCKIN DAFTY!’ he screams at the boy, afore skuddin him wae a right. The elder boy seems dazed. Danny grabs his jakit n pulls him forward, while aimin his forehead at the boy’s nose. He folds n lands next tae Finnegan, whose face is fucked. He laughs, showin a missin tooth, n kicks the boy in the face as he falls n lies back, wavin an invisible white flag. A turn roon laughin tae git a swift punch in the mooth aff Si O’Connor’s right hand. A barely feel it, just that dull thud n throb that yi become accustomed tae.

They aw start walkin back doon the way they came. Their shouts n threats still sound up the street. A KNOW WHERE YOU STAY, YA WEE DICK. Taz is handin the boys fags oot his packet n lightin them. WAIT N SEE IT SCHOOL, YOU’RE GETTIN IT! Y T FUCKIN B, YA WEE CUNTS! TOI BOIZ! He gathers us aw around him.

‘A’m fuckin proud ae yooz boays. That wis fuckin MAGIC, by the way! Wit a fuckin battle that wis.’

A turn tae aw ma ain pals, our wee six-man gang. Danny’s git a big daft smile on his face, wae a Mayfair cigarette in the corner ae his gub. He’s git a belter ae a black eye. A big purple doughnut roon his socket, puffy n tender-lookin, wae wee ring cuts in the corner. Finnegan’s face is fucked. That elder boy hud smashed him cos he hud a face yi kin only git wae a good few punches. Addison n Broonie didnae huv a mark on them, cos wan ae the wee cunts who sprinted hud the misfortune ae losin a trainer n trippin on his arse. Broonie n Addison kicked fuck oot him on the deck. His wee pal ran doon n skudded Broonie, but it wis just a token gesture. They knew they hud been done. As the adrenaline fades, Wee Broonie spews. Taz is laughin, in a proud paternal way, like his wee boy hud come aff his bike wae stabilisers. ‘That’s the adrenaline, son, doesnae mix wae wine,’ he says, pattin Broonie’s back as he heaves up a brown soup-like concoction. Ma face is sair anaw but A don’t care. A couldnae gee a fuck.