Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

They start giein ays aw they sincere welcomes: ‘Hi, Terry. Hello, Terry’. . aw that shite. Ah kin tell one wee burd’s clocked whit’s fir muncho-luncho but! Wee dark-heided thing wi thin, tight lips n a shagger’s glint in her eye. She crosses they nylon pins tae gie that pussy a cheeky wee squash. Jist tae wake it up, soas it kens thit jumbo-sized hot dogs ur oan the menu fir later! Fuck me, ah kin feel Auld Faithful shuffling forward an inch. She’ll dae!

This Glen cunt looks at ays aw stroppy as ah sit doon, but ah dinnae gie a fuck, ah’ve said ma piece n pit the goods oan display. Time tae jist kick back n see what bites n gets reeled in but, ay. Ah’ve sat back wi ma right leg restin high oan the chair in front, tae lit Auld Faithful display nicely ower the inside ay ma thigh. This Glen boy, he’s haein nane ay it, though, ay. — Perhaps, Terry, you might like to tell us why you’re here?

Ah gies a wee shrug. — A bit deep. Why’s any ay us here but, mate? Ah’ve came along tae this meetin cause ah like a ride, ay. Thoat ah’d meet some kindred spirits! Spice ay –

— I don’t think you understand the meaning of this group, Glen sortay gasps oot, ehs puss aw creasin up. Thaire’s a few tuts aroond the room.

But ah fuckin well dae ken the meaning, cause ah’ve been lookin at the burds’ reactions; maist ay thum’uv goat that stroke-victim turned-doon-mooth oan thum, but that wee honey, the yin thit checked the goods oan display, she’s fair crackin up! Ah’m fuckin well gaun hame wi her! Guaranteed!

This Glen cunt’s still giein it the big yin: —. . the people in this group have had their lives wrecked by their addictions to sex, and inappropriately acting on those emotions. He looks roond them aw for support.

This big fat bastard stands up. — I’m Grant and I’ve been sober now for eight years. .

— Well done, Grant, Glen goes, as the other cunts start aw that ‘good oan ye, mate’ shite.

Ah dinnae git this at aw. — Whin ye say sober, does that mean yuv no hud a ride in eight years? Cause if ah hudnae hud a fuckin ride in eight years ah widnae be sober, ah’d be right oan the fuckin pish!

Thaire’s a few gasps n heid-shakes at that but the wee honey in ma sights jist pits her hand ower her mooth tae stifle a wee laugh. The fat cunt, this Grant boy, he’s nearly greetin but, ay. — My addiction cost me my whole life, my family, my beautiful daughters and the love of a fantastic –

Ah cuts um oaf. — Cause ah kin sort ay believe it ay you, mate. No bein wide, but yir a big laddie, likes. . but in aw the wrong weys, if ye git ma drift but, ay. N yir daein that feelin sorry for yirsel thing, nae burd wants that, ah goes, n turnin tae the lassies, fir support, likes. Feminism in action!

— No. . you don’t understand. . I’m sober through choice. .

Ah’m startin tae fuckin tipple. — Ye mean by sober thit yuv no hud a ride?

The Glen gadge steams in. — Terry, you seem to be fundamentally misunderstanding what this group is about. We’re here to talk about the crippling losses our addiction has cost us. You must have had broken marriages, estranged children, destroyed relationships. .

This pits ays oan the spot. A sea ay faces, burds, bairns, but maist ay aw fannies, seems tae flash before ma eyes. Shaved minges, Brazilians, ginger, blonde, but they soon get swamped by a pulsin forest ay thick black bushes; which tells us wir back tae the fuckin eighties. — Aye. . uv hud aw that. N it isnae very nice, ah admit, cause it isnae, n besides, yuv goat tae gie the cunts something. — But you gadges are too gless-is-half-empty. Ah’ve hud a loat ay fuckin barry rides fae some quality fanny, ah explain, — a few muck-buckets n aw, ah’ll gie ye that, but ah widnae change a fuckin minute ay it! Shot over twenty scud flicks!

This Glen cunt sees the wey this is gaun, n tries tae switch the conversation. — Look, this group is about coming to terms with our addiction, not celebrating it.

A burd who looks rough as fuck, but ah’d still gie yin tae, turns roond n goes, — Typical defence mechanism, not dealing with the loss, pain and heartbreak the disease of addiction causes!

— Ye kin talk aboot that aw ye like, but as oor Italian cousins say: ye dinnae take-a the humpy wi the rumpy-pumpy!

Well, that gits a few laughs, before it gits aw borin again n ye huv tae listen tae cunts gaun oan aboot how ridin’s fucked up thair lives. Fuck that: take shaggin n peeve oot ay the equation n yir left wi the square root ay sweet fuck all! N the only root ah’m fuckin well bothered aboot is Auld Faithful’s, whae’s stiffenin nicely. Down, boy. .

That wee raven-haired honey, she’s a total wee clart; gies ays a wee slow wink. Ya cunt! She gits ma ‘ah’m game’ yin right back at her! You wi the hair that’s awfay inky, yir fuckin well getting the stinky pinky! Guaranteed!

Of course, when it’s coffee brek we’re straight oot the fuckin door n intae the cab, right up tae the fuckin Pentlands. Ah’ve pilled up in a secluded spot n wir in the back, n ah’ve soon goat ma hands slappin against the roof ay ma cab n ah’m pumpin away good style!

Wuv baith come like the Spanish Inquisition, then wi sit gaspin away in the back for a bit. Then ah thinks ah’d better git the lassie’s name. Ah hate it whin ye ride some burd n ye forget tae git her name, n, mair important, gie her yours. Jist soas she kin lit her mates ken but, ay.

— Ah’m Terry, by the way.

— Ah heard ye say, at the meetin.

— Right. . you’re. .

Ah realises that she’s fuckin distressed n nearly greetin. The guilt and regret seems tae huv kicked in early big time. — I’m anonymous . . or I fucking well should be!

— What’s up?

Now the tears ur flowin n she goes, — I’ve done it again! I’ve fallen off the fucking wagon! I have to call my sponsor. .

The burd’s as pissed oaf as fuck: the coupon oan it! Ye eywis try n calm thum doon in this situ. — Awright, doll, ah’ll take ye hame. Where’s it ye stey?

— South Side, she goes, turnin away fae the phone, then back tae it. Ah start up, but ah’ve goat the mike oan so ah kin hear every word ay her call. — Kerry, it’s Lorraine. .

At least ah’ve goat her name.

—. . I had an incident, this taxi driver. . he had a huge cock. . ah see hur lookin at ays, but ah’m keepin ma eyes oan the road. Fuckin balm tae the ego that yin, but! — . . it was at the meeting. . Yes, a really big cock. . Yes, we left the meeting at the coffee break. . I dunno, but it was big. . I’m very close to yours now. . She bangs on the windae. — Turn right into Rankeillor Street!

Fuck sake, it’s practically roond the corner fae me! So ah does, n ah parks up. Thaire’s another burd, a bit aulder, waitin at the stair door. She looks at ays as ah git oot the cab, n ah see her glancin doonstairs tae the ootline ay Auld Faithful, whae’s back in semi-mode already. — Hi. I’m Kerry. So you were at the meeting too?

— A pleasure, Kerry. Ah’m Terry. . Terry n Kerry, ah jokes, but the lassie’s coupon steys serious. So ah tells her, — Aye, I was.

Her eyes go really wide, n she turns tae that Lorraine. — So Terry’s vulnerable also. .

This wee dark-heided Lorraine burd looks at ays, aw confused, then back tae her.

Kerry turns tae me again, her heid twistin like crazy. — You shouldn’t be alone either, Terry. Then tae Lorraine. — The pair of you, come up and have some coffee. We have to process this.

Ya cunt, did we no fuckin well process it awright! Ah wis up the pair ay thum aw fuckin night! Wish Sick Boy wis still here, ah’d huv goat the cunt roond wi ehs camera, n goat that yin doon! Perr Lorraine wisnae too chuffed in the morning, ower coffee n toast, when ah asked her fir a tenner. — It’s oan the meter, ye kin check. Thaire’s an auld sayin in the taxi trade: the camera might lie but the meter fuckin well doesnae!