‘Mate, they’ve no heard the last ae that. They’re fuckin owed fur you n Eck.’

‘Azzy, you’re gonnae end up gettin it as well. Two ae yees hink yir mental.’

Big Kenzie turns n slaps his wee brother’s face a fuckin beauty. ‘Fuckin man up, ya wee turd yi! Me n Azzy didnae fuckin start this but we’ve git the fuckin baws tae end it. A’m the tap fuckin man aboot here!’

Wee Kenzie’s ragin, holdin back tears. ‘WELL YOU KIN FUCKIN TELL MA MAW WHEN YI KILL SOMEBODY! COS A’M NO, YA PRICK!’

‘John, fuckin calm doon, mate. A know yi got a fright when A got slashed but yi cannae just git hut n that’s it over n done wae. A’ll always needty watch noo n so the fuck wull yooz. Yees ir fuckin YTP noo, boays. It’s never gonnae be over. Yees wull fight wae these cunts tae yees drap deid. TELLIN YEES. Yees wull be huvin pitched battles wae yir fuckin zimmer frames n walkin sticks as chibs in the nursin home. MEER YOU, YA TOI BASTARD, I’M HUVIN YOU!’ Big Kenzie dances aboot holdin an imaginary zimmer.

Wee Kenzie is smilin noo but sparks a fag n smokes it in a huff. ‘Well, wit we gonnae dae then?’

‘We’re goin doon the fuckin Toi the night tae dae a wee mural ae our ain! Art Attack time, bhoy-ohs!’

‘Fuckin too right, ma man!’ A say, laughin.

‘TOI BOIZ, WANTED. DEAD OR ALIVE. YEEE HAAA!’ Big Kenzie shouts, swingin his cap aboot like a cowboy n makin pistols wae his fingers.

Lessons

The classroom is eld n flakey. There’s a muddle ae desks n chairs, some newer faded plastic wans n eld wooden things fae nineteen-canteen. They’re stuck the-gither wae chewin gum n bear the scars ae aboot twenty years ae graffiti atop graffiti. The things ir boggin n huv the faint smell ae stale mint n Atomic Apple Hubba Bubba. We’re in English, fourth period, which is always a bad wan. Everycunt is buzzin tae git oot fur lunch n dae witever yir dain. We couldnae gee a fuck aboot Macbeth. It’s the first day back n everywan is in a pure downer. The rain is runnin doon the big plastic windaes. The only glass wans in the school ir the wans oot ae safe reach ae balls n stones.

A sit n stare oot these big dirty plastic windaes every day, dreamin aboot the future n ma life. A fantasise aboot burds, adventures n stuff that A want, like motors n that. It vaguely occurs tae me that the shite the teacher is rabbitin on aboot kin git me aw these things, but the thought ae actually listenin n learnin it n dain good fries ma nut. The minute A git interested in suhin, the eld dusty grammar books come oot n A feel lost n throw in the towel. She’s talkin aboot Macbeth, givin it murder, ghosts, witches, castles n A’m like fair doos fuck that dis sound passable. Then she tells us it’s a fuckin Shakespeare play. We’ve git the book in front ae us but A cannae read a fuckin word ae it. Somecunt shouts, ‘Miss, A hink A’m dyslexic!’