Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

As ah gits oaf the bus back at Leith, the last gadgie ah expect tae see in a tracky, poundin the windswept boulevards ay the fair port, is Second Prize. — Hey, Rab, man, ah goes as the cat comes hoppin intae view oan Bonnington Road.

— Spud … he goes, n he stoaps but keeps runnin oan the spot as he sortay raps oot what he’s up tae between breaths, n ah git that he’s oaf the peeve n goat a new burd called Carol, whae’s a mate ay Alison’s, n he’s gittin fit again and talkin tae a boy at Falkirk aboot a trial, but he might phone the auld boss at Dunfy. Then he’s off, bouncin oan they Nike soles taewards Junction Strasse.

Well, it’s fabby tae see a boy oan the up. Lean n fit, no intoxicated, indulgin in hot sex wi a fräulein, wi the chance ay earnin a crust or two fae the beautiful game. When ye think aboot it, the cat’s goat the lot, man, but ah suppose that aw that means nowt if it’s aw badness n despair percolatin inside ay thon furry dome. Ah’m as jealous as, but, man, pure turnin as green as Jimmy O’Rourke in a cabbage patch.

But ah’ve goat a wee bitty business masel this affie, so ah’m turnin doon the Newhaven Road, Bowtow-bound. Whin ah gits tae the lock-up Matty’s awready thaire. Ah’ve goat tae say right fae the off that Matty’s one ay the few boys ah jist cannae git oan wi. It’s ey purely biz wi us, ken? N ah ken thit ah wis only asked tae help oot cause ay Rents n Sick Boy bein in London, Tommy no wantin involved, another cat loved up at the moment, n Franco now residin courtesy ay Her Majesty.

Used tae think aw the hostile vibe wis cause ay Matty bein fae the Fort n me bein fae the Kirkgate, which isnae oan the other side ay the world, but naw, cause Keezbo’s fae the Fort n Matty’s even worse wi him. But ah still do sortay think it’s that. They’ve goat a different mentality thaire fae every other cat in Leith; likesay me comin fae the Kirkgate or Sick Boy fae the Bannanay flats. These boys but, thair jist awfay, well, Fort in thair mentality, if ye git ma drift. So ah tries tae discuss this wi Matty. Ah goes, — Youse Fort cats huv goat tae huv a defensive mentality cause yir in this scheme thit’s called the Fort, thit looks like a Fort, n yis are actually wawed in, like yir bein kept apart fae the rest ay Leith. See, likesay me or Sick Boy, we’re schemies, we’ve goat that Edina Cooncil rent book n aw, but we’re sortay expansive, cause we’re no wawed in like youse cats. We’ve goat the open sea ahead. Bound tae breed a different mentality, Matty, but. Ken?

The likesay Rents or Sick Boy or Keezbo would pure git intae discussin this point, but Matty jist goes, — Cunt, ah’m gittin the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes. She wants it, bit ah’m no that bothered, eh, no.

N that’s it, man. That’s the level ay conversation. It makes us think thit Matty wid nivir make it in the world ay rock n roll; ah mean, even if he wis likesay better oan the guitar. Ah mean, imagine that cat in the studio wi Frank Zappa n the Mothers ay Invention, thir gittin up tae aw thair high jinks n he jist turns roon n goes, ‘Ah’ve goat the keys tae this flat in Wester Hailes.’ Ah mean, how ur they cats gaunny respond tae that, likesay? ‘Barry, gadgie, lit’s dae some acid.’ Ah mean, yuv goat tae sortay pill yir weight in the social situ, ken?

So wir jist loadin n unloadin different boaxes ay delinquent durables fae the van tae the lock-up, n it’s no hoat at aw but ah’m still pure sweatin. N ah’m telling Matty aboot Swanney’s weird broon, but he’s jist sayin, ‘Aye, it’s true, thaire’s nae white aroond.’ Then ah starts talkin aboot visitin Franco, n it turns oot thit Matty’s been tae see um n aw. N it’s a wee bit ay chat at last! He’s gaun oan aboot how Franco wis oan at him aboot the likes ay Swanney n this other gadge Seeker n Davie Power but ah realise ah cannae really hear what he’s sayin cause everything’s went aw distorted and blurred. Ah feel dizzy n ah huv tae sit doon oan the concrete n ah’m thinkin, wis that gear ah did yesterday right dodgy or what …? Ah look at the pus-filled scab oan my airm whaire ah shot it up, but it wis wi ma ain works n Keezbo did some n aw …

— Cunt, what’s up wi you? Ah hear Matty’s voice, as ah look up intae the weak sunlight. — C’moan, ya mongol, wuv goat tae git this sorted oot!

Ah’m no right here. Something’s wrong. Ah’m fucked. Ah feel seek n likesay everything aroond us is aw dark n looks miles away … — Ah huv tae go tae the hoaspital, Matty, ah’m gaunny die, likesay …

— Cunt, what’s wrong wi ye?

— Ah’m away, man, n ah stagger tae ma feet n it’s like bad dream n Matty’s sayin how’s he meant tae unload aw they boaxes oan his tod, but ah’m right staggerin like a wino up oantae the Ferry Road. Ah puke up n faw ower, hudin oantae the railins n this wifie n her bairn are askin us if ah’m awright, n ah pill masel up n walk a bit doon the road … then …

THE FIRST WEEK at Sealink wis certainly eventful enough; a riot, a bit ay gear, n some barry sex. You cannae fucking well say fairer than that. Oan toap ay it aw, Marriott’s planned the first walk-through for the night. There’s nae chance ay us lasting the month here.

This is the weirdest place ah’ve ever worked; even Gillsland’s, wi Les’s Monday-morning shiteing competitions, cannae compete. Staff-wise, The Freedom of Choice is like the Marie Celeste . We’re experts at avoiding work; no just the seasonals, but the established staff tae. They’ve aw been issued new contracts ay employment, which means longer hours fir far less pay, so motivation is non-existent. Therefore any passengers with enquiries cannae find us. Oan occasions when we ur visible, we strut aroond the ship wi a phoney expression ay purpose oan oor faces, eywis in flight fae real graft. Cream Shirt’s lispy voice seems tae be chasing ghosts; a name prefixed by an anxious ‘Where’s …?’ Of course, nae cunt hus a fuckin scooby.

Being assigned tae the kitchen was meant tae be punishment, but it’s turned oot a fuckin boon; much better than stewarding duties. For one thing, thaire’s less risk ay confronting fitba mobs or drunk stag parties. Ah’ve nae inclination tae deal wi that kind ay shite. And, bein honest, ah cannae gie a fuck aboot Marriott’s smugglin gig either. If ah kin walk through the customs between shifts wi a couple ay grams ay percy and hud the job doon, then ah’m daein fine. But takin ten gs ay uncut broon through customs in ma strides, jist soas some fat cunt can buy sovies, drive a BMW n sit in a villa oan the Costa del Sol? Fuck that for a game ay sodjirs. There’s millions ay mugs in Thatcher’s army linin up fir that job. Sick Boy n me talked aboot it, n he’s in agreement. The only small matter is how tae brek the news tae Marriott. But ah dinnae gie a fuck; ah’ve goat other things oan ma mind.

Clang, bang, bang goes the ship, frothing through the North Sea, flocks ay squawkin gulls trailing behind feedin oan its excrement. Bang, bang, bang go me and Charlene, her grabbing a hud ay us and pulling us downstairs, riding us hard oan the bunk, her hair flying, or me sucking and licking her enchanting tufted fanny till she either squeaks wi delight or ah asphyxiate. Her small doll’s mooth around my cock, crazy eyes burning as it bangs oan the back ay her throat. Wir competitive orally; baith want tae bring the other oaf the quickest. Ah usually win, through making myself think ay Ralphy Gillsland’s vaginal coupon at the crucial moment, in order tae stave off the muck-spurt. My sex-drive still isnae what it should be, but at least smokin the broon disnae seem tae decimate it completely, no like bangin up the white. Youthful libido versus chronic heroin addiction is perhaps the ultimate battle between irresistible force and immovable object. But there’s only gaunny be one winner, so ah’ve goat tae keep the skag in check. In some weys there’s a pay-off though; instead ay gittin too excited and jist wantin tae git ma cock up thaire, it makes us mair relaxed n intae foreplay. Never realised ye could dae so much wi yir fingers, and as fir this fuckin tongue, ah’m like that boy oot ay Kiss or the fat gadgie fae Bad Manners whae looks like Keezbo …