Broonie pulls a joint oot fae behind his left ear n goes tae light it. ‘Is that sound, cuz? You still aff it?’

‘Aye batter in, just stick the fuckin windae doon n don’t make a mess.’

‘A know, A’m fuckin bad fur it! Got a lighter by the way?’ A shake ma heed n hand him ma wan. He sparks the thing up n starts puffin it oot the windae wae a big smile on his face. Smells like right stinky stuff n it fuckin chokes me noo wae the reek aff it.

‘Longs that you’ve been aff it noo?’

‘Nearly three year aff aw drugs, mate.’

‘Fuck sake, sir! That when you guyed it n perched?’

‘Aye, mate. Long time.’

‘Newcastle, eh? Wit’s it like doon there then?’

‘No bad, mate. But no home.’

‘Oh aye. How’s the lovely fuckin Tricia?’

‘We’ve finished, mate.’

‘Aye? Nae fuckin chance! Wit fur?’

‘Just cos, man.’

‘Ah they’re aw the same, mucker!’

‘Wit aboot you, Broonie Beefcake? How’s yir eld da?’

‘Wee fuckin Stevie’s his usual self, mate. Kicks aboot in the painter’s rig oot n never paints. Still on n aff the sauce. He gits better fur a while then gets worse again. Always a see-saw, know wit A mean? Aw quiet mostly fur me, cuz. A wis shaggin this wee burd fae Coatbrig n A got rubber wan night n pumped Big Rose! Fuckin tell any cunt n we’re done!’

A burst oot laughin, fuckin pishin maself. That wisnae an image yi wanted tae dwell on. ‘Fuck’s happened tae Danny? Big Kenzie wis tellin me he’s in a bad way wae the gear.’

Broonie takes a last long draw ae his joint n flicks it. ‘Heed’s fuckin pan-fried, man.’

‘How dae yi mean?’

‘Takin they fuckin panic attacks n aw that. Cunt’s scared tae leave the hoose. Pure paranoia, son.’

They’re suhin A know aboot. None ae the boys knew A hud taken them. They wur ma personal demon. They’re complex n when they huv a grip ae yi it’s a battle. Yi kin heal fae them anaw but. When life’s periphery is happy n yi exercise n enjoy yir work n huv good relationships n nae drama or tragedy – yir mental health improves. Funny that eh … It’s always a matter ae current compression, stress, pressure n past trauma. Start improvin in these areas n magic happens. Yi feel yirself again n yi kin feel good.

‘A see.’

‘Yi should go n visit him, mate. Sure he’d appreciate it. Just cos everycunt’s busy n always dain shit he gits forgotten aboot. Fuckin shame fur him really. Think Maria n Brian ir worried.’

‘Nae wonder, man.’

‘Aye fuckin shame, he wis a good cunt.’

Past tense. Noo, he’s damaged goods n likely fuckin discarded by aw his drug-dealin buddies. A’ll go n see the cunt soon fur maself. ‘N wit aboot Finnegan n Toni?’

Broonie shakes his heed n holds his hands up in the air. ‘Fuckin finished wae the two ae them. Honestly, Azzy, fuckin tramps! A geed them a loan ae a big note, fuckin hunner quid fur messages n electric n they done us! Gonnae slap Finnegan when A see him. Last time A spoke tae him he wis fuckin greetin n aw that. He’s in a bad way, mate. Full ae the fuckin scoobs, fuckin valium, diazepam, witever he kin git, man. Phones me lookin fur them n telt him tae git tae fuck. Party drugs only, know wit A mean? Fuckin blues, cunts think yir a fuckin junky if yi sell them! Cunts say they’re both on-it.’