‘Fuck yees think that wis aboot?’ Danny asks.

‘His maw’s been in a bad way, man. Ma maw told us aboot it.’

‘Think she’s deid?’

‘Fuck knows, man. Either that or she’s seriously no well. Polis wouldnae be oot lookin fur Broonie otherwise.’

‘Fuck.’

The eld grey kirk is quiet n dark against the snow n we aw walk slowly n silently towards it. We bounce intae the eld section n sit quietly. A start rollin a joint painfully, cos ma arm is pure nippin n the blood is through the scarf. As the drink fae earlier fades ma pain gets worse anaw. Everyhin is fucked wae a capital F. A turn tae the boys, who ir passin a crumpled n damp joint roon. Merry Christmas, troops. We shake hands in the darkness n huddle in tae our rotation against the cold n the snow.

A Shite Christmas

A hud spent the early hours ae Christmas in casualty gittin stitches. Only after that wis A tae open ma pressies. A spent most ae the day playin ma new PS2 game. Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, goin on rampages n gittin the polis after yi. Here yi kin just whack the stars-cheat in n that’s you, defeated the ends ae justice. A got ma blue Berghaus Mera Peak anaw n a couple ae score notes in cards. A got the grey Lacoste n the red Diesel aftershave n the new Ajax tracky. A’m happy wae that. A wid be smellin right fur the ladies n lookin minted. Berghaus n bottle ae wine doft. It’s the wan garment yi need tae survive the streets ae the west ae Scotland. Azzy boy in the blue Mera Peak. Quality.

We’re in Stacey’s bit noo, in the Legoland estate. The two ae us ir leanin oot the windae upstairs smokin a joint before Christmas dinner. This is a sacred ritual ae ours n makes the turkey n roast tatties taste aw the better, pigs in blankets the lot. She’s git a black dress on n A’m wearin a long-sleeved checked shirt n jeans at ma maw’s behest. A’ve tae ‘cover that arm n not put people aff their dinner’ apparently. Twenty-three stitches A got. Ma face is lookin black n blue on the left side where the bottle hit me, ridiculous egg anaw. A wis aw achey n breaky when A woke up in the mornin. The hot shower stung like fuck, but A hud tae clean aw the shite oot ma arm, ooze n dirt fae the golfy. After that, ma maw demanded tae see it cos aw the blood in the bathroom n then it wis straight tae A&E at the Monklands.

Big Eck is in hospital n Big Kenzie hus twenty-odd stitches anaw. Bailey n McColl ir stull in the cells. It’s aw over MSN. Eck wis lucky. They said another centimetre n it wis game over. Worst ae aw, Alice Broon hud been found lyin wae an empty bottle ae vodka n hud choked on hur sick. Dead n fuckin gone on Christmas. A dunno how tae feel aboot it aw. It’s pure madness. A’m thinkin aboot aftershaves n trackies n Wee Broonie is wakin up without a maw.