Persona Non Grata

Friday night is the most alive yi see this place. The ritual is well under way. It’s just turnin five n there’s loads ae traffic racin doon the hill, the shops ir bouncin. The weans ir oot playin on their bikes n a few late stragglers fae school walk up wae their backpacks swingin halfway doon their arse. Aw the workies ir standin ootside the pub n the latest young team ir waitin fur their bottles. A didnae recognise any they wee guys. The wee cunts noo wear stylish shit, jeans n even fuckin chinos, rather than our polyester trackies. Some ae the wee cunts huv body warmers on, a new trend. There isnae a Berghaus jakit or a fitbaw tracky in sight. A laugh as A drive by the wee cunts. Cunts wid huv slapped yi if yi came oot lookin like that in our day, wee bodywarmer n chino mafia.

A’m headin fur the Orange Hall oot ae habit. Aw the motors used tae park there fur a few joints before the Friday plans came the-gither. A’ve still no seen any the other troops. A knew the writin wid be on the wall but, after Wee Kenzie’s pish earlier on. He’d be tellin everycunt, the wee prick. A’m starin oot the motor windae, dreamin aboot aw this, when the passenger windae gets chapped. The motor door gets yanked open. A’ve nae time tae react.

‘HAPPNIN, AZZY BOY!’

‘Awright, Broonie mate!’

‘Kenzie’s just been roon fuckin greetin aboot gittin a slap aff the big man. Callin you fur aw sorts.’

‘Aye, fuckin bet he wis.’

‘A telt him tae stop fuckin greetin n that yir wan ae the boys fur life, fuck sake. Yi hud tae bail or yi wur gonnae get it! A understond, mate. Don’t worry, A’ll say tae everycunt yir back n fuckin kickin!’

That’s wit A’m worried aboot. Broonie’s holdin a big paw oot tae shake n A grab it n pull the cunt in fur a hug. A cannae believe the size ae him. He’s put on aboot three stone in muscle. The cunt’s arms n legs ir chunky as n he’s wearin G-Star jeans, brown Rockport boots n a smart Duck n Cover jumper. He’s lookin flashy as fuck n hus an Armani watch on n a chunky gold sovvy-ring on his finger. ‘Cheers, mate. Yir lookin well, fuck sake. Yi makin moves, son?’

The cunt booms a fuckin laugh in ma direction. ‘A wish, cuz! Just been dain the gear fur Marcus n that. Git hunner quid tickets there tae shift. Got maself some fuckin new clobber n a nice brief.’

‘Aye so A kin see! Been hittin the gym?’

‘Aye fuck. Been hammerin it fur over a year noo. Everycunt thinks A’m on the fuckin roids, man.’

‘A take it yir no then?’

Broonie beats his chest like a fuckin ape. ‘No a drap ae water in there, ma boy!’

‘It’s good tae see yi, ya cunt.’

‘You anaw, Azzy, ma main man!’