On the left side ae the courtyard there’s a big massive barn. The barn hus been plastered and emulsioned white inside but we spray-painted it aw wae our mentions, the Young Team symbol – a Y wae a T through it. YTP is painted anaw – that stood fur Young Team Posse. Every gang usually hus a second name, fuck knows why. Yi kin say either YT or YTP, it means the same. Elder wans tended tae know it as the YTP but, cos it sounded cooler n that. The Toi wans, our enemies, write Y TOI or TOI BOIZ or YTB fur Young Toi Boiz.

Rainy, pishy days like this, we always sit in the Mansion. Nae other young team aboot here hus a fuckin hideout like ours. It’s creepy-lookin, a mad dark hoose in the woods. Sometimes if yi walked roon yirsel tae meet the troops yi wid feel a bit para n hang aboot ootside smokin a fag before they showed up, then bounce in bold as brass. The light closes in around the broken corridors ae the Mansion at this time n the woods git darker outside. Wee Kenzie starts tellin a story. We’re aw watchin fur him hoggin the joint but he passes it over before startin, takin an extra big draw tae dae him. It makes its way roon the rotation, orange bombers fallin fae the tip. The tune playin oot a tinny bassless phone speaker is DJ Mangoo, ‘Eurodancer’.

‘Boays … the cunt is fuckin mental.’

‘Phhft … thinks he’s fuckin mental,’ Broonie shouts.

‘Naw mate … the cunt is actually aff his nut.’

‘Wit’s the script wae him?’ Finnegan says fae behind a Mayfair.

‘Well put it this way … he’s wan ae the tap men aboot here, ran aboot wae they Toi wans. Aw our elder wans caught him doon the street n he ran right intae them n started swingin cunts aboot. That’s how he became the tap man.’

‘A thought Matty n Div wur the tap kiddies?!’

‘Aye, but they’re only Tam’s age. These ir right elder cunts in their twenties.’

‘Aye, they two ir meant tae be some fighters, but that Jamesy Maynard is a mental cunt, man. A’ve heard ae him. He runs aboot wae heavy gangsters.’

‘Fuckin cardboard gangsters!’

‘Boys, A’m tellin yi, he’s a mental cunt! Tam used tae talk aboot him when he started high school, they wur aw still there. Noo that Jamesy’s a big dealer n sells nine-bars n swedgers.’

‘Aye right, man. Cunt’s no Al Capone, Kenzie! You hink everycunt’s mental!’ Danny says, laughin.

The rain is comin in the smashed windaes wae the howlin wind. It’s Friday 29 October. This week is a fuckin buzz cos yi huv Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night anaw. We wurnae goin oot guisin fur Halloween anymore but it’s a good excuse fur a swally n tae see some elder burds dressed up in wee costumes n heels n stockings. We’re in third year at high school n me n aw ma pals just started swallyin oot on the streets properly. Before that, it wis stolen beers fae yir maws n das, nuhin major. Noo, we’re oot gittin proper cargos wae the troops. Everywan in school wid be oot on-it at the weekend. Monday tae Thursday in school is aw aboot the tellin ae yir tales ae valour fae Friday n Saturday. How much wine yi drank, wit burds yi wur shaggin (or tryin tae shag), who yi wur fightin wae n wit drugs yi took.