We reach our area n see a few heads standin at the entrance tae the lane across fae the wee shop n the bookies. We’ve drank aboot half our wine, so we’re feelin merry n A’m singin Orange tunes.

‘I’m a young Ulster soldier,

From north of the border,

I’m one of the UDR four!

They’veee charged me with murder,

Just me and no other!’

The crowd starts walkin doon. A see a grey Berghaus among the unfamiliar trackies. That wee fuckin sick feelin passes through me, a mad cocktail ae adrenaline n Tonic wine. ‘That’s the fuckin Toi wans …’ A say tae Monica. She’s lookin para noo.

‘Shit, son, wit you gonna do?’

They’re awready walkin doon, attracted by ma singin. The tap men ir already separatin and walkin ahead. There’s six ae them.

‘Fuckin run, Azzy. Don’t take the kickin.’

‘Jump up that close n phone Big Kenzie n that, then bail, hen!’

She looks back aw the way n runs intae the flat door tae hide n phone the boys. They aw know A’m a Young Team wan. A kin see their excitedness at catchin wan ae us. They’re shoutin abuse doon the street at me. A take the lid aff n take a long swig then screw it on tight n light a snout. They’ve slowed doon, sayin A’m no runnin. It’s best no tae run, if yir defo gonnae git caught. When greyhound sees rabbit it, by instinct alone, wull give chase. Sometimes a full team would just walk by yi, but no wae our two teams. ‘You that Azzy Williams?’ Si O’Connor asks me, knowin the answer.

‘Naw,’ A say.

‘Aye he fuckin is! It’s that wee fuckin dick.’

‘Fuckin smash ’um, Si.’

‘Yir gettin ripped, wee man.’

‘Young fuckin Toi Boiz in yir area!’

The torrent just keeps comin n A’m waitin fur the pack ae circlin wolves tae attack. They’re hesitant. A’m six foot tall n A’ve git a wine bottle in ma hand. A take a last puff ae ma Mayfair like a Cuban cigar. ‘Who ur yi then?’ that Si asks us. Fuck it.

‘A’m yir da, ya fuckin dafty!’

He dives forwards n A swing ma wine bottle at his dish. BANG. He’s on the deck. They’re aw at me throwin punches n A’m gittin hit wae a fence plank. The wee nippy wans ir tryin tae drag me tae the ground. The plank comes flyin roon again n hits ma beak, which splatters everywhere. A’ve only drank a half bottle ae wine, so A’m feelin it aw. There’s nae alcoholic anaesthetic the night.

‘Y T FUCKIN B!’

‘GIT HIM, BHOYS! FUCKIN GIT HIM.’

‘TOI BOIZ, YA WEE DICK!’

‘INTAE HIM, BOAYS.’

A’m on the deck tryin tae git back up. There’s trainers connectin wae ma face n body. A feel a Rockport boot stampin on ma legs n more trainers kickin ma face. A’m lyin foetal, still takin shots. A feel a bottle burst over ma shoulder. Ma face is aw blood n wan ae ma eyes is swollen over awready. The attack relents after a couple ae minutes ae pure punishment.