‘A’M BILLY THE KID!’ he says in a drunken slur.

‘Aye, well guess wit, Billy Boy …’ Finnegan says as he pulls his lighter oot.

‘Gawn grab they bottles fuck sake, that cunt couldnae beat sleep,’ Danny says.

A crouch doon wae them aw laughin at ma back n run up silently n grab the fat end oot wan ae his pockets. The cunt is concentratin on every step he makes, avoidin broken glass n dug shite. ‘YA WEE PRICK,’ he shouts as he spins roon tae stop me n faws on his arse. There’s a bellow ae laugher n abuse fae ma pals up a bit. The other bottle rolls oot his pocket and by some miracle, doesnae smash. It bounces, slow motion, on the rim ontae a big fuckin juicy weed that cushions its arse n breaks its faw. A see ma opportunity. A dash like Indiana Jones fur his hat. A reach the big weed n dandelion heed. Billy the Kid tries tae grab ma leg but A snatch the bottle fae his talons n turn tae walk back. His white bag is lyin spilt aw over. Six plastic bottles ae pound nasty rollin oot. Next tae the lane is a big substation, the wans wae the transformer n the DANGER OF DEATH signs aw over it. A pick up his bag n fuck it right over the spikey fence. Ma pals ir aw gawn wild. Laughin like fuck. The eld boy looks through the fence n we see his heed lookin at the spikes. He’s thinkin aboot it. The warnin signs mean nuhin tae him, compared tae the six bottles ae happy on the other side. Everycunt goes quiet n A wait tae see wit he dis.

He goes fur it. A chunky trainer tries tae find purchase on the brick wall, behind the spikey fence. A know, fur a fact, that the gate doesnae lock. The big padlock is just decorative n wis fucked years ago. We used tae bounce in tae git baws that hud been skied. Keeps weans oot, but cravin alkies ir a different matter. They’re aw pishin theirsels at the eld cunt. A walk up by him. He’s on the deck noo wae his foot caught in the fence, troosers half fawin doon his fuckin arse. A put a hand through n open the gate. A step through n grab the bag. A put ma hand oot fur him tae grab. His eld paw comes up wae trepidation. He takes hold ae it n pulls himself up. His hand slowly goes tae the bag n picks it up. He fishes in his jakit pocket producin ten Club n hands them tae me wae his heed doon.

‘Fur yir troubles.’

A walk back up wae a wee bit extra swagger. Everycunt’s lookin at us.

‘Fuckin furget that eld cunt, it’s a sin fur him.’

The group ir momentarily enlightened n nod in agreement.

‘Aye, man, true.’

‘Fuckin pish fur cunts like that int it.’