Patricia takes me by the hand n leads me intae the toilet. She’s puttin a line oot n sniffin it aff hur compact mirror. A’m no takin any drugs but she’s kissin me n talkin softly in ma ear wae a rhythmic melody like the Pied Piper played, n A’m wan ae the enchanted weans followin hur. A’ve git ma back against the wall n ma hands ir on hur black dress n slim curves. A’m a wee bit drunk n she’s fleein on the ching. The eld jukebox is playin through in the lounge, eld tunes, the best tunes fae the summers years ago.

‘Mon, son. We needty go!’

‘Where, back tae your bit?’ A say, hopin tae go n sleep wae hur n forget.

‘Newcastle A mean.’

‘When?’

‘Pack a bag tomorrow n ask your mum fur money. She’ll want you away from here anyway!’

‘Just up sticks n leave like that?’

‘Why does it need to be any more complicated than that?’

‘Cos it is fuck.’

‘Only if you make it more complicated!’

‘Fair doos. So the flat’s just sittin there fur us? N you’re aw ready?’

‘Aye. That’s what A’ve been doin the last few days, getting ready to go. A’m goin next week with or without you. A’m sick of this, Azzy.’

‘Sick ae wit?’

‘All of this shit. All them out there, total deadbeats doin nothin with their lives. A’m not gonna hang about to see who’ll go next.’

‘Sound then.’

‘What does that mean? Sound as in “doesn’t matter”, or sound as in “aye let’s go”?’

‘A’ll come wae yi. Defo, new start n aw that.’

‘Are yi sure?’

‘Hunner per cent.’

‘Aw A’m so excited, son! This is gonna be amazing!’

There’s a bang fae the cubicle wall n Patricia jumps. A open the door tae see who it is. It’s Danny, rubber n bouncin aff every wall in the place. He’s raisin his arms n shoutin aboot suhin. A kin see he’s buckled fae swallyin aw day so A’m tryin no tae say nuhin. Deep doon, A’m still ragin at him fur slashin Si. We huvnae really spoken properly since then. We walk by him n back intae the lounge where everycunt is. The session is still goin strong wae more glasses on the table n faces redder after our half hour chat. Danny marches back intae the hall after us. He’s git his arms up n he’s shoutin. Everycunt is starin at him. ‘Aw aye! Fuckin Azzy boy’s too good fur the boys noo, eh!’

‘Sit doon.’

‘Naw, son. Naw, son. A think yi should tell everycunt yir news, tell yir fuckin pals aw aboot yir wee trip.’

A shake ma heed n go tae sit doon. He’s rubber n there’s nae point startin.

‘Aye that’s fuckin right, everycunt. Big mad mental fuckin Azzy Williams. Tap man fae the young team, Big Kenzie’s fuckin bumchum! Aw mooth n nae action! It wis me that hud tae sort Si oot, aye, ME. Fuckin Danny Stevenson, on top non-stop runnin amok, yee haaa!’