A’m just gonnae turn up at his door unannounced. Maria or Big Brian wid let me in n hopefully Danny wid appreciate ma visit. A drive, rather than walk, roon the corner tae his door n huv a quick look aboot before A bounce up. There isnae a soul aboot, even fur a Saturday. The place is fuckin dead. A gee the door a couple ae chaps n stand back n wait. A hear keys rustlin n A’ve git that wee nervous feelin again. It’s Maria that answers n she looks surprised tae see me. ‘Long time no see, Alan son! How yi doin?’

‘No too bad thanks, Maria. Is Danny in?’

She gives a wee tired nod towards the stairs. ‘Danny’s always in, Alan. Yi had better go up n see him.’

‘Yi sure that’s awright?’

‘A don’t think it’ll do any harm. Me n Brian are worried about him, son.’

‘Aye, A heard he wisnae dain very well. Is he awright but?’

‘He’s here with us n that’s the main thing. We’ve done what we can – tried tae coax him out his room tae come n see the family n his pals, but he’s not right. Go n see for yourself. See if you can help him, son.’

‘A’ll see wit A kin dae.’

Maria stands oot the way n A walk slowly up the stairs. A knew this hoose as well as ma ain. A spent years runnin in n oot their back door, stayin fur tea n havin water fights in the back garden, wae Big Brian pourin buckets ae icy water over yir heed fur scootin him wae a fuckin pump-action Supersoaker XP65. A hope tae fuck the cunt is gonnae be awright. Whether we fell oot or no, yir best mate is always yir best mate. Whatever hud happened wae us is water under the bridge. Time n wounds n aw that shite.

‘Awright, Danny.’ The cunt turns slowly tae look at us. He looks zombified, eyes pure heavy n face aw thin n grey. A half-smile comes tae his lips n he gees us a clumsy wink.

‘Awriiight, eld son.’

‘Good tae see yi, mate.’

‘Fuckin yeeears, man innit. Fuuuck sake.’ Danny’s aw over the shop n hus wee white bits ae foam at the corners ae his lips. He’s holdin on tae his words like they’re made ae treacle n he hus tae chew each wan as he says it.

‘You been takin blues, ya cunt?’

‘Ayeee maaan … cruuunched a striiip this mornin.’

‘Wit fur, son?’

‘Cooos ma heeed’s friiied.’

‘Wit wae but?’

‘Everyhiiin, mate.’ He leans back in his wee swivel chair n spins roon. The cunt looks fuckin miserable. His room husnae changed at first glance, still wae a Tricolour n Celtic posters, but the edges ir dirty. There’s full ashtrays n empty tins lyin aboot like he’s hud a wan-man party which hus tailed on indefinitely.

‘Danny, yi know yirsel they only make things ten times worse. Ir yi depressed, son?’ The cunt lets oot a laugh like a hyena. Folk kin be obnoxious when they’re full ae blues. They don’t really mix wae other people.