We hud practically nuhin, nae real parks, only the woods that offered a natural climbin frame n eld tree swings that git confused wae hangin stories, n whose blue ropes haunted yi in the night. Maybe Wee Toni died on a tree swing tryin wan last time tae recapture lost youth before it wis gone forever. It’s easier tae think that way n in some ways it makes more sense tae me. The Mansion, somewhere ahead, waited fur us n it wis there we spent those last days of youth.

A’m nearly at the shop, the place where it aw began. The source ae our madness and first scared Friday Feelin wis the wee convenience store, next tae the hairdressers n the Chinese takeaway. There wis nuhin simple aboot the pleasures yi could purchase there cos their effects ir long and complicated, hidden fae yi at thirteen or fourteen. Ten Mayfair n a bottle ae Buckfast n a bottle ae Red Square Reloaded. That wis the first Friday Feelin, the first madness n the buzz tae go on-it. It’s that path that led me here, runnin doon the lane, a last time, towards the shops.

It wis Taz who ran up after gittin done n recruited us tae back him up, eight fuckin year ago. He moved away when we wur aboot sixteen n A never seen hide nor hair ae him again. He wid be away livin somewhere else, movin on – same as the rest. It’s been a long time since we hud aw ran aboot in a young team. That’s fur wee guys – it’s a stage, a phase ae needin tae belong. Aboot here, in Lanarkshire, Glasgow, the west n the rest ae Scotland – belongin meant yi wur in a fuckin young team wae troops fae yir area n yi got mad-wae-it n defended yir scheme. Who dae they think they ir? Standin up our fuckin area waitin fur wan ae us tae walk roon so they kin jump us. Thinkin they’re fuckin nuts cos there’s a motor full ae them, cardboard gangsters runnin nuhin. The Friday Feelin hus me n A’m possessed wae that eld spirit ae madness, the Buckfast n endless enmity wae our rivals, the Young Toi. Azzy the Williams, oan a mission, runnin it. Scotland’s most famous son, a man ae myth n legend tae come.

‘YOUNG TEAM, YA FUCKIN DAFTIES!’

The Toi wans aw turn tae see where the shout came fae. There’s five ae them aw crossin the road, aboot tae fuckin dae me in. Matty, Si, JP, Allen n McVeigh. A’ve git ma fuckin wine bottle prime position, ready tae whack the dial aff the first yin tae bounce up n fuckin try it. A’m standin wae ma arms oot, nae chance A’m runnin. They’re nearly at me n A see Matty whip a blade oot, the same camouflage serrated huntin knife he hud the last time. They’re feet away noo n he’s marchin towards us wae it in his hand. Five versus wan, the brave yin. ‘You’re fuckin gettin it fur slashin ma brother. You and yir fuckin best mate Danny,’ Matty is shoutin.