There’s me, Toffey, Gunny n Briggy in Addison’s motor. The smell ae the green in the car is pungent n overpowerin. A used tae crave the sickly sweet essence in ma mouth, nose n lungs. It’s poisonous tae me noo n A tell cunts tae smoke oot the windae. A know wit lies at the end ae that smoke. It’s the death ae ma thin margin, that contested ground ae hours, days n weeks that Azzy boy hus fought n died fur. A month aff it is unimaginable tae a cunt who’s been takin drugs every day fur years. A month is a lifetime. It’s a brave struggle comin aff suhin when everybody around yi is still dain it. Decent elder cunts give yi due recognition, cos they hud tried n failed in past lives. That darkness ae addiction hus a hold ae them n they know the colour ae yir sufferin.

‘Wit yi no smokin fur, Azzy?’ Wee Gunny says.

‘A’m aff it, mate.’

‘Dae you no take nuhin noo?’ Briggy asks us. Even fur this harmless wee cunt, his question is thick wae implication, accusation that maybe Azzy thinks he’s better than the troops noo. Somehow morally superior tae him, his family n the lads cos A’m makin an effort. It isnae spite, just ignorance. Wee Briggy knows nuhin else but substance abuse.

‘Naw, mate. A’m aff everyhin apart fae drink n fags.’

Wee Gunny coughs n whispers poof. There’s a wee stoned snigger fae the rest. These cunts irnae ma pals. They’re strangers, enemy. Aw they care aboot is drugs n that misery that loves company. Azzy Boy’s thin margin is worth them aw. Lest yi forget those fallen moments n airless breaths. Those long, slow, wasted days and black nights ae fear n panic. The money n that most important currency yi hud fritted away tae it. Yir cravin mind longs fur that taste ae oblivion, an end tae the monotony ae long, drugless days. Cunts will never really understand yir choices n will always huv a go. So A craft ma response. Some eloquent words tae represent the moment and the struggle. This is the fight fur that beautiful and sacred margin. Where yir family, future, hopes n dreams comes doon tae that second where yi say naw n bravely step intae no man’s land, amid a barrage ae sufferin, boredom n mockery n say no more. No thanks. A’m aff it.

‘Fuck yees.’

And it is beautiful.

Ma phone buzzes in ma pocket. It’s Danny Hoose. A’ve barely heard fae the cunt while he’s been runnin aboot sellin shit. Cunts took different paths n sooner or later, yi huv tae let them walk theirs n you need tae walk yours.

‘Alan, it’s Maria.’

A hear hur sniffin but n A know it’s no good news.

‘Wit’s happened?’

‘Aw, son … have yi seen Danny?’

‘Naw A huvnae, Maria.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘How? Wit’s happened?’

‘Agnes is away.’

‘Away where?’ A say without thinkin.

‘Away, away, Alan. I’m sorry, son. A know you thought highly of hur.’