‘Shut it, fat man!’ Phil shoots back, steamin noo.

‘Shut up, Phil, you massive dickhead!’

‘What you saying anyway, Williams?’ Craig asks us.

The last cunt who called me Williams wis Big McGiver. YOU BOY, WILLIAMS! A smile thinkin aboot the big cunt n just laugh. ‘A’m no sayin anyhin.’ Fannybaws.

‘Good, because I don’t know what Monica is doing with you.’

‘Yeah, Dom was cool as!’ Phil says.

Joey looks insulted fur me.

A just laugh n let it lie. ‘Dom is ancient history, lads. Nuhin against him.’

There’s nae point startin n wastin a good night. A kin see Monica smilin in ma direction fae over his shoulder, n it’s me goin home wae hur.

‘Yeah, Dom was a top guy.’

‘Mon loved him.’

A kin feel it buildin like always. There’s a point ae no return, but A know they’re just tryin tae git a rise oot ae me, so they kin show Monica that A’m still a fuckin dafty. The real battle wae these cunts is just verbal. They would never lift their hands tae yi n if you hud tae dae it tae them, you’re the arsehole. ‘She didn’t love him that much if she finished with him. Did she?’ Joey says and winks at me.

‘They finished because he went to Australia. Mon was going to go with him.’

‘So fuckin wit.’

‘So fuckin wit,’ Craig repeats in an exaggerated neddy voice.

A common insult. Slag the way A speak, make a social assumption n judge me. Judge ma family, ma prospects, ma financial status n ma intelligence. Yi know wit they say aboot assumptions. The night, A just laugh, light a cigarette n turn n walk over tae the lassies n say our goodbyes. A smile n put ma arm roon Monica Mason n we walk towards the taxis at the end ae the street.

The Crooked Branch Above the Burn

A wake up, still half dreamin, light a fag n flick it somewhere near the ashtray. A know the sun is up n it’s daytime n Monday mornin but A’m hidin fae maself. Ma only way oot ae here is tae git a job elsewhere n go. A cannae focus on lookin n dain applications wae ma life unravellin yit again. This place is ma personal labyrinth n soon as yi return, yir runnin aboot the hedgerows, lost as fuck n dodgin a minotaur a minute. A hear ma maw runnin up the stairs n know suhin is comin. A kin fuckin tell by hur hurried steps n wae every wan ma half dream disappears. Ma hand goes tae the fag packet n A pull another wan oot n stick it in ma gub n start sparkin wae the lighter. The eld yin usually chaps the door, but she just bursts in. A open a single eye tae look at hur. ‘Wit is it, Mum?’

‘Get dressed, Alan.’

‘How?’

‘Just do it, will you?’

‘Fuck sake, wit’s happened?’

‘Stephen’s mum n dad are at the door.’