Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

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Skagboys: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Mark Renton has it all: he's good-looking, young, with a pretty girlfriend and a place at university. But there's no room for him in the 1980s. Thatcher's government is destroying working-class communities across Britain, and the post-war certainties of full employment, educational opportunity and a welfare state are gone. When his family starts to fracture, Mark's life swings out of control and he succumbs to the defeatism which has taken hold in Edinburgh's grimmer areas. The way out is heroin.
It's no better for his friends. Spud Murphy is paid off from his job, Tommy Lawrence feels himself being sucked into a life of petty crime and violence — the worlds of the thieving Matty Connell and psychotic Franco Begbie. Only Sick Boy, the supreme manipulator of the opposite sex, seems to ride the current, scamming and hustling his way through it all.
Skagboys
Trainspotting

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— A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your reputation precedes you.

Morrison looks briefly bemused. His expression is leaden and pained, wary of conspiracy. A heavyset sidekick pipes up, — Whae’s this cunt?

Ah’ll never fuckin look at the others, far less talk tae them. Only Cha is important and ah don’t take my eyes off him for a second. His face is chalky, but it possesses a strange dignity and feral beauty, underneath the orange sodium street lamp. Then his features crease and a throaty chortle emerges and ah start tae get worried for the first time as he announces, — Ah like this cunt’s patter!

And it seems he does. So ah’m spraffin wi these radge-gadges for a bit, then ah feels Sylvia’s tug oan ma sleeve, a gesture that doesnae go past Cha. — You’d better go, mate. Duty calls, eh? he sniggers complicitly. — See yis.

Dismissed by Cha, we head intae Sylvia’s stair, and the refuge ay the flat. Ah’ve impressed her the night by standing up tae Forrester (no really a big danger) then fronting it wi Cha Morrison (a risky undertaking by aw accounts). — You’re feart ay nowt, you, she says in admiration.

— Naw, ah’m feart ay everything , ah tell her, which, when acknowledged, probably yields pretty much the same outcomes. Still, ah’ve done something right, cause she’s no fuckin aboot, guidin us intae the bedroom. Ah’ve never seen so many clathes; oan the flair, hanging oot ay cupboards, spillin fae suitcases and holdalls. But they’re thrown off the bed and ah’m on her and we’re snoggin again, then gettin oor kits oaf. Sylvia briefly huds up a yellay nightdress, frayed at the helm, as if she’s considering pittin it oan, but then wisely dismisses the idea. She isnae a shy lassie, though; she grabs ma cock and watches mesmerised as it stiffens in her hand. Pulls back the foreskin tae let ma cherry surge gratefully intae the light. My fingers glide ower that sweet fur, parting her dark, moist crack, and when she lets go ay ma knob it takes the place ay ma hand, and ah push, heart racing with that appreciative jolt ay completion as it slides home.

So we’re banging away like fuck. She doesnae seem skagged but ah’m numb n ah’m no being very creative, just gettin intae ma stride n tryin tae hump and sweat the junk oot ay ma system. It’s barry, cause ma back feels awright. Maybe it’s the gear, but although ah’m sustainin the erection, ah cannae seem tae blaw ma muck, even when she ‘positively gushes’ as Sick Boy would say.

The lady was positively gushing .

Eventually, ah dae something that ah never thought ah’d dae, n ah fake an orgasm, groanin, then makin my body tense. She’ll probably be able tae tell thaire’s nae stuff inside her cause we never bothered wi a flunky. In a joltin chill ah suddenly think aboot Begbie and that mad wee Pilton biler in the boozer. Even though ah’ve shot nowt ye kin still git undetected traces ay spunk and ‘it just takes one’ as our auld science teacher Mr Willoughby used tae say. — You’re … ehm … awright, ah ask, — ah mean, the pill n that?

— Aye, but it’s a bit late tae ask aboot that now, son.

— Sorry, should’ve checked it oot before. Passion ay the moment, eh?

She rolls her eyes doubtfully and sparks up a snout, offering me yin. Ah decline n she gies us a brief, uncomprehending look. The lighter illuminates her pinched, sharp face. Coupons like hers ah always think ay as auld persons’ puses. She’ll eywis look the same. — That Mikey can be jealous if ah talk tae anybody else. He’s obsessed. It’s creepy. Ah dinnae fancy him, n ah’ve made it fuckin plain enough.

Forrester’s an arsehole, but naebody likes a cockteaser and ah can tell that this bird’s been delightin in giein the radge the runaboot. There’s nae fun tae be had in listenin tae somebody rabbitin on aboot their fixation wi a party they arenae even fuckin , so ah get my clathes oan and head off intae the night, citing the excuse ay work in the morning.

When ah git back tae the flat, Sick Boy still isnae back. Ah start tae strip oaf again n look at ma body in the full-length mirror. Ah systematically tourniquet and tap up ma veins, finding oot where the best yins are. There’s better ones in ma legs, a good yin on the crook ay ma arm, and one oan the wrist that ah just might be able tae get up oan demand. Ah’m fucked if ah’m gittin left oot again.

The door goes and it’s awfay late, aboot two o’clock, n ah answer it in ma Ys, thinkin it’s Sick Boy, n the cunt’s left his keys. But it’s Spud; wi a cairry-out. He’s semi-pished and tells us he’s been peyed oaf fae the removal firm the poor cunt’s worked at since he left school. — Fancy a beer, or mibbe gaun up the Hoochie fir the last bop, likesay?

Hate tae say it but ah ’m bored with the Hoochie. A bad sign: the Hooch and Easter Road are the only temples ay spiritual enlightenment left in this city. Ah tell him ah’m skagged up, n besides, by the time wi get up thaire it’ll be game ower.

He follays ma eyes tae the works oan the table. He shakes his heid n blaws oot heavily fae puckered lips. — Ah’ve done the lot, man, but ah draw the big broon line in the sand at Portybelly beach wi the smack, likesay.

— Ah jist chase it, but, ah inform him. — Ye dinnae git addicted that wey. It’s barry, man, like nae other feelin oan earth. Ye jist dinnae gie a fuck aboot anything; everything is just so damn fine, ah tell him.

— Ah pure want tae try it.

No exactly a hard sell. So ah git oot the gear n a foil pipe (ah’ve practised makin tons ay them) n we huv a blast. Ye can feel the aluminium particles wi the dirty smoke stickin tae yir lungs, but the heid starts tae feel weighty and a euphoria creeps intae my soul expanding through us like a burst ay sunlight. Spud, wi his crooked smile and heavy eyes, looks like a reflection ay me and we share a solitary thought: Everything else can go n fuck itself . Sittin back oan the couch, ah tell um, — Ye see, Spud, this is aw just a big adventure before ah clean up for gaun tae Europe, n back tae uni.

— An adventure … he rasps, fightin back the urge tae puke, then succumbin, as thick yellow vomit splashes from him oantae the flair, where the cairry-oot sits, untouched.

Dutch Elm

SHE WAS LATE, and knew that wasn’t the way to make the desired impression on the first day of her new job. Going out yesterday had been a bad idea, but following that visit to her parents’, Alison had wanted to obliterate everything. The terrible moment her mother had coughed that viscid blood into her hanky. The way they’d unravelled; her mother, father and her, as they sat transfixed on the dark red stain in her mother’s hand. But the real horror had been in the mask of guilt on Susan Lozinska’s face. She’d apologised , fretfully saying to her eldest daughter and her husband, Derrick, — I think it’s back.

It had been Alison’s afternoon off, a break from finishing up at the pool, before she started her new job. She’d popped her head into the parental home to salve her guilt about not seeing her folks as often as she perhaps should, since moving out a couple of years ago. Her younger siblings, Mhairi and Calum, weren’t around, and she’d been glad of that. Her dad’s tense, white face as he tried to get some defiance into his voice: — We’ll get the tests done, and if it is, just saying like, if it is, we’ll get through it, Susan. We’ll get through it thegither!

Alison had felt the room spinning and the world seemed to sink through her. She’d stayed a while, responding in kind to their thin voices, which seemed muffled, as if coming from another room. Her mother, now looking so wrecked and stricken, and her dad, a thin, mustachioed man, who’d been just about holding onto a spruce and spiffy sense of himself in middle age, visibly dwindling in solidarity with his wife at the onset of this terrible news. It’s back . Then Alison had left, walking up to her flat in Pilrig. Unable to settle, she’d quickly headed out into the early evening. In Lesley and Sylvia, she’d bumped into two girls she didn’t know that well. They’d gone to some drug party in Muirhouse, after which she’d ended up at Tollcross on Johnny Swan’s couch.

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