‘Awright, lads. Wit yees up to?’ Gemma says.

‘Gawn tae a party if yi want tae come? Just waitin fur drink.’

‘Why no? A’ll git yees it, A kin git served now!’

‘Yass, you’re a fuckin darlin, Gemma!’

After a minute, Gemma appears wae the bags n seems tae be strugglin wae the weight ae Big Rose’s fat cargo. We’ve git a bottle each n a few tins, Gemma hus a bottle ae pink MD n a couple ae Bacardi Breezers fur a tasty number after. ‘Is Monica n Patricia goin?’ Gemma asks.

‘Aye everywan’s awready there,’ Danny replies.

‘So who yi kissin the night then, Azzy?’ Gemma asks, winkin.

A fancied hur anaw. She wid look at yi like she knows everyhin yir thinkin then wink, tae tell yi tae keep dreamin. A hope Monica’s gonnae be there. A wis still textin her constant but nuhin’s happened yit. Cunts pure chasin wee lassies n aw that. Nae use ataw. The elder burds ir where it’s at.

‘Gemma, you kin take ma arm the night!’ Danny says.

‘Eh, naw! A’m just aff the phone wae Amanda, ya dick!’

‘YA WEE FLY MAN!’ Big Rose shouts n punches him in the arm.

We reach Wee Gunny’s street n kin see his hoose. The tunes ir awready bangin oot the windaes. We reach the door n bounce straight in. There’s a pile ae trainers at the door like an assault course tae dodge on the way in. The tune blastin oot the speakers is Jurgen Vries, ‘The Theme’. Troops ir everywhere n the place is awready a fuckin mess. There’s cans n bottles n glasses aw over. There’s four ashtrays, a paper fur rollin joints on, greff on the floor n spilled wine n bodies tramplin it aw in tae the carpet. There’s two three seaters on each side ae the livin room n the remnants ae an eld coffee table covered in aw this shite. Wee Toffey is in the corner playin wae an eld stereo. The thing is blarin it oot n the sub below is dancin its ain wee rhythm. The tune skips, Benny Benassi, ‘Satisfaction’. Big Rose is pushin me fae the back. ‘Cammon tae fuck, Azzy!’ Wee Toffey jumps over the coffee table n grabs us. We aw start goin crazy, ravin like mad. A crack ma bottle n take a healthy tan ae it. Cunts ir bouncin aff the walls gawn nuts. A shake Wee Gunny’s hand n gee him a drink ae ma bottle as he walks by, steamin awready. The tune changes again, Plummet, ‘Damaged’.

A’m only in half an hour when Monica catches ma eye n glances towards the door fae across the room, subtle n feminine, blink n yi wid miss it. Toffey notices but n he’s noddin n givin me the thumbs up n winkin. A laugh n start headin fur the door discreetly. A grab ma bag wae ma bottle n cans on the way oot.

It’s still warm outside n A’m buzzin cos A’m walkin wae hur. Monica’s wee paw slips intae mine n she’s git a wee serious look on hur face. It’s makin ma mind race wae possibilities n A’m smokin double drags. Noo n again she’ll catch ma eye n gee me the look n yi know witever happens yir fucked, cos you’ve fell fur an elder lassie who cannae promise yi anyhin more than the moment. Pals, school troops, other burds n the young team wid aw huv suhin tae say, aw damagin wit yees huv the-gither. Then yi huv tae contend wae elder guys who’ve git motors n money n aw the shite that comes along growin up. A’m still YTP, tracksuit n bottle ae wine doft, livin life on the edge. Maybe that’s part ae the appeal, even fur a lassie like hur. We’re on borrowed time always, wae every second stolen and destined fur inevitable n painful failure but every moment ae it pure electricity.