Danny toots outside n A jump oot n intae his motor. We head doon tae the off-licence in the main street where yi kin git aw sorts ae mad cargo. Danny picks up on ma reluctance tae come tae his party the morra. A didnae feel like socialisin much, especially no wae the likes ae Kenzie n co. He’s invited them aw, wan last bash ae the summer wae aw the troops. Friday night, just like eld times. A’m under nae illusions aboot that but A think Danny just wants us aw the-gither before we split up again. We’re aw pulled our separate ways tae our distinct lives n fates. Part ae me wants tae rekindle the Young Team n dae it aw over again, maybe different this time, as if that’s a possibility. There wis a simplicity tae that eld madness. A strange sanity between the brotherhood ae these young postcode warriors, ma brethren in the YT.

We’re walkin oot the shop heavy-laden wae cargo. Between us we’ve git two slab ae beer, a bottle ae vodka, a few poof juices fur the lassies n a bottle ae Aftershock plus four bottles ae Tonic. Plenty tae wipe oot a party anyway. We’re nearly at the motor when A hear somecunt shoutin. Danny’s turnin tae see who it is. There’s nae squad. Just Si O’Connor marchin doon the street towards us. The cunt’s swingin his arms aboot n swaggerin. He must huv a good few pints in him, cos usually he’s a total fuckin mouse without Matty beside him. ‘Awww, here we go! Wit you wantin, ya fuckin plamf?’ Danny shouts up the street.

The cunt’s swayin aboot, shoutin random pish up at us. ‘Yees think yees ir fuckin maaad? YOUNG FUCKIN TOI!’

‘Shut it, ya dafty, or A’ll turn that swagger intae a stagger,’ Danny says, laughin.

‘WHO YEES TALKIN TAE? TOI BOIZ FUCKIN RUNNIN IT!’

‘Fuck sake, sir. Yi no a bit eld tae be jumpin aboot shoutin that?’ A ask.

‘Yooz two ir fuckin gettin it, wait n see the morra. Yees huvin a wee party? Wait n see wit yees wull fuckin get.’

‘Si, mind you’ve no git yir big brother there tae save yi, son! Noo piss aff.’

‘Fuckin shut it, Danny Stevenson, phffft. Who the fuck ir yi?’

Danny is just shakin his heed, laughin. It’s pathetic. It strikes me when A think aboot Monica wae a degree n away teachin in a foreign country, or Big Kenzie or even Div, movin on n startin a family. ‘Mate, yir no a wee boy anymore. Dae yi no think it’s time tae gee aw this a by?’ He looks at us two as if we’re daft.

‘S’awright fur you, Azzy Williams. Look at ma fuckin face.’ Si runs his finger doon the faded scar where Danny slashed him aw they year ago. ‘It’s never fuckin finished fur me.’

‘You wur unlucky, mate, but yi gonnae bounce aboot when yir thirty shoutin Young fuckin Toi?’

‘Aye fuck.’