‘Happnin, mate,’ Broonie says, still no lookin in ma direction. A light two smokes n hand him wan n watch him put it tae his mouth n drag it till it crumples. He smokes it aw without flickin it then drops the dout on the floor without lookin n stamps it.

‘No much, eld son.’

‘No much.’

‘A just came tae see if yir awright.’

‘A’m awright.’ He looks anyhin but n hus a mad look aboot him. It isnae the quiet sorrow A expected.

‘A’m gonnae fuckin git them.’

‘Their time wull come, mate.’

‘Aye n it’s comin fuckin soon. A swear doon, mate, A’m gonnae fuckin stab fuck oot them.’

A want tae say suhin tae calm him doon, but it’s nae use cos A’m sure A wid be sayin the same under the circumstances. Maybe he hus tae say this, tae play it oot in his mind n realise that his loss is enough. Revenge wulnae bring Stevie back. Nuhin wid bring Wee Toffey back either. Many times A hud felt the same way, that another act ae senseless violence wid somehow soothe yir troubled soul. It’s just an eye fur an eye, eld as the stones n stull goin strong.

‘Mate, that’s no gonnae help matters.’

‘They killed ma fuckin da!’ he screams, half animalistic rage, half pain. Broonie puts his heed in his hands n weeps. There’s nuhin A kin say tae take away the pain. It’s awready played oot in his heed n the ridiculousness ae it hus finally sunk in.

‘Stevie wid ae rather it wis him than you. It wis you they wur after. You’re still here, mate. Don’t throw yir fuckin life away goin lookin fur these cunts.’

‘Yi think?’

‘Of course, fuck sake. Yir da died tae protect yi.’

He’s lookin up among tears.

‘A hudnae … thought aboot it … like that.’

Whether it wis true or no, it seemed tae be helpin. On dark days like these, in the spirit ae diplomacy, yi wid say anyhin tae calm yir friend who wis sufferin. There’s nae malice in a lie like that. ‘Yi know yirsel, Broonie. These cunts don’t mess aboot. But when the debt is settled, that’s it. Yi kin leave it aw noo n don’t need tae watch yir back. It’s over.’

‘Yi think so? Think they’ll come lookin fur me?’

‘Naw, mate, A don’t think so. That’s it finished noo.’

The Side Effects of Fun

The drugs which hud kept Danny in zombieland fur the last year ir finally releasin their grip. The room is spotless noo apart fae the usual Celtic shite aw over the walls. Danny is clean shaven, fully dressed n upright. He’s through the worst ae the storm. When yi reached a week clean aff everyhin things started tae ease aff. Yir countin weeks instead ae days, hours n minutes. Relatively, yir sufferin comin aff them is nae time at aw compared tae the length ae yir abuse. Yi kin tell he’s barely slept cos he looks exhausted but he’s talkin fast, jumpin fae wan thing tae the next, no really wantin a conversation, just somecunt tae absorb this energy, rather than it bouncin aff the walls. ‘Mate, cheers fur puttin up wae that absolute shite last time honestly. Ufft, that wis bad but honestly. A wis depressed right oot ma fuckin nut, son. Honestly, man.’