Free Glue by Irvine Welsh

Primary. Setterington. Ah think eh’s Martin Gentleman’s cousin or something, so bein a big bastard must run in the family. They’re at thatage where they’re startin tae think that thir wide but thir jist wee laddies. Ah’m gled that ah’ll huv left the secondary school jist before Rab starts next year. Yir wee brother at the school. That’s deid embarrassing, in front ay yir mates n lassies n that. Tae Falkirk wi aw ay that.
    — Awright, ah say tae him. The wee wank’s goat that auld jaykit ay mines oan. Mind you, ah think ah says eh could huv it. It’s still too big fir him but, it’s hingin.
    — You gaun tae the fitba this afternoon? eh asks ays.
    — Dunno, ah goes, fingerin the jaykit lapel oan um. Still no bad quality. Ah’m sure ah wis pished whin ah sais eh could huv it. — You standin here tae frighten the craws away?
    Ehs mates laugh at this. These wee radges are brutal.
    — Funny, eh goes, then eh points tae ma jaykit poakit n says, — How huv ye goat yir skerf in yir pocket then?
    — Aye . . . wi wirnae sure if wi wir gaun or no. Ah took it jist in case. Listen, ah need tae go straight up the toon tae meet Terry n Carl n Wee Gally. Ye gonnae take this bag back hame fir ays?
    Rab’s squintin in the sun. — Carl’s a Herts supporter. What’s eh gaun tae Hibs for?
    Mr Questions that wee radge. It’s ey ‘how is it this’ and ‘how is it that’ aw the time wi him. — Day oot, eh. Herts are at Montrose or somewhere in that wee daft League n eh cannae afford it, so eh’s gaun wi us.
    — We’re gaun n aw, eh Rab, that Alex Setterington laddie goes. Then the wee radge turns tae me n asks: — Ur youse gaun fightin wi boys fae Glesgay?
    Ah stare back hard at this freckle-faced wee hardo. Cheeky wee wideo jist stands thaire smilin back at ays. Ah look at Rab, then back tae the Setterington boy. Ower ehs shoodir ah sees Mackie gaun doon the road wi Keith Syme n Doogie Wilson, thir crawlin up ehs erse. Jist cause eh goat two the day, n jist cause eh’s oan the Hibs books. Ah’ll nivir crawl up that cunt’s erse but. — Whae says we wir gaun fightin at the fitba?
    — Dinnae ken, somebody telt ays, Setterington goes, still smiling. Aye, eh’s a wide wee bastard, that yin.
    — Dinnae believe everything ye hear.
    — Where yis meetin? Rab goes.
    — Nivir you mind, ah goes, thrustin the bag at him, — you jist take this hame. Ye gaun wi Dad tae the game?
    Rab shuffles oan the spot n says nowt for a bit, then, — Mibbe, no sure.
    He’s no gaun wi ma faither or naebody else’s faither, that’s a cert. Also for sure is that muh Ma n faither dinnae even ken eh’s gaun. They widnae lit him go oan ehs ain tae Rangers, Herts or Celtic or any big cup game. Ah mind whin they wir like that wi me: it wis brutal. Ah dinnae want tae embarrass him in front ay ehs wee mates, n ah’m no gaunny shop um, but ah want a word later oan wi the wee radge.
    Eh’s lookin aw pissed oaf at ays cause eh’s goat tae take the bag hame. Eh turns n heads away.
    When ah gits doon tae the bus stop, thir’s two ay the Fet boys thaire, n thir lookin at ays.
    — Aye, aye, ah goes.
    — Awright, one ay them says.
    The other yin nods back. Jist as well thir no gittin wide.
    Jist as well fir thaim.
Copper Wire
    The Fet boys git oan thir bus eftir a bit. Fet’s a funny team, they should be good, but thir brutal. A wifie at the stoap tells me ah’ve just missed the twenty-five. Plenty time but. Ah gits tae thinkin aboot the day, aboot Doyle n that crowd. Terry better mention tae that Doyle aboot oor share ay the money fae the wire. That wis ower a fortnight ago now. We aw took the risks, big risks n aw, nickin that wire. That wank’s hudin oot oan us n eh’s gittin telt. Him and Gentleman. Ah dinnae care whae they are.
    That was an amazin night at the wireworks but, totally unreal.
    Funny, but it wis Carl that started everybody oan aboot robbin the wireworks, n he’s the one that wis left oot ay it. Eh’d be seek