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Legend Tripping

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  1. Most of the children of Carlin High School were engaged in the usual playground activities, girl gossiped rapidly sounding like a thousand busy typewriters; youthful first years laughed and chas ed each other around the yard, burning off energy; older kids from the rough end of town hid behi nd the toilets, smoking weed. Steven was sitting alone, perched on the fence like a hawk, watching all the normal mayhem when he spotted Simon Anderson take a nosedive onto the concrete. The boy just went white and dropped, and even though the other kids were making a godawful din, Steven definitely heard Simon’s skull crack like a heavy egg as it smashed onto the ground. The noise was a sickening, hollow sound that made his heart jump in his chest. He immediately jumped off the fence and rushed to see if the older boy was alright. In the seconds it took him to move to where Simon was, there was a large crowd around Simon, some girls were screaming, an older boy was shouting, “Get a tea
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Tír nAill : Part one.

1. Norma could feel some ancient childhood terror stir in her gut as she turned onto the North Road. The words on the sign were like some magic incantation, a spell, warning Norma to turn back. She couldn't, it was her Dad's 70 th birthday and though she'd not been in Duntreath for more than 20 years she considered staying away unfair if not cruel to her father, who'd recovered from his second stroke six months before. Norma wanted to see the old man more than anything, had even offered to buy her Mum and Dad a flat in Manchester, near her, so they could spend more time together. They refused politely, they'd been in Duntreath a long time and were stuck. They wanted to leave less than she wanted to come back, but come back she had. Civilisation, traffic and the road thinned out leaving her bordered by rolling fields and sporadic factories abandoned and left to rot. A sign informed her she had 26 miles to her destination and the churning nervousnes
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Remembrance.

It was one of those afternoons where the sun beat down from the cloudless sky, yet in a mocking way, since even the slightest breeze seemed like you were being slashed with an ice-cold Stanley knife. I was sitting at the bus-stop on Bridge Street, just in front of the Underground Station waiting for a 38 to take me to Shawlands to meet the fence, Ally Barratt. He owed me money for some quality jewellery that my mate McGregor had lifted from patients at the QE hospital. McGregor was an auxiliary there and had cut a deal with me weeks before. I was the middle man, twenty percent of the proceeds, it wasn't bad, enough for me to score a few lines at the weekend without dipping into my own wages. Usually there's a 38 like eve r y forty seconds or so, but for some reason the Council had decided to do roadworks on the one main road s out of town, in the middle of the week, which meant I was stuck there for ages. I was in the mind to hail a cab but as cold as it was, at least
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Popular posts from this blog

Ring Bang Skoosh

So what you do is get a 60a bus over to Duke Street from the City Centre. Keep going right along Duke Street until you get past the remaining houses and the industrial park. The bus will eventually take a second right at a large roundabout. You'll not be able to miss it. It's beside another industrial park. You'll want to get off the bus at the next stop and then wait for the 257A. They're not common, one every half an hour (if you're lucky) and only between 8 A.M. and 5.30 P.M. If you've missed it and have to wait you could do worse than Babs Café across the road. Go get something delicious to eat. Don't get me wrong her cuisine is part of the cultural dietary pandemic that's reduced life expectancy in the areas of the east end to that of cavemen, but her deep fried pizza slice on a roll with chips is well worth the fucking risk. Anyway, once you're on the 257A you'll head south east along an empty area for about three quarters of a mil
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Gross Domestic Product: 8

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Chapter Eight. It took the taxi almost half an hour to get through the West-End and up through the north of the city out into Milngavie. Some roadworks at the switchback had left the entire end of the town in one long traffic jam, according to the driver anyway. Pete was not impressed, not one bit. By the time he stepped out he’d stumped up twelve quid and his skin felt like it needed massaged by a crazed acupuncturist. The cold hurt was becoming too real for him to bear but he knew he’d just have to tough it out. He’d con Baird, or failing that, rob the place, get that stupid lamp and then he could relax, shoot up and have a nice long gouch. After that he’d go to Allerdyce and before long have another five grand in his pocket. That would give him nearly ten grand, enough to solve his problems. Enough to propel him out of Glasgow’s moribund gravitational pull once and for all. He just needed to keep it together for another hour or two. The house he stood outside looked
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The Scheme

Nineteen eighty nine, a number, another summer; sound of the funky drummer ubiquitous on the radio. Gordon Harper drummed his fingers against the wheel in time to the tune. It was a nervous staccato, no doubt about that. As he sat parked on Casgairt Road he wondered if he should just bolt. He'd a couple of grand left in his savings, and could be on the next flight to Chilé or Singapore, could be anywhere but here. He threw his cigarette butt out the window and immediately lit another. This was going to be a bad job, that became apparent as soon as Skinny's name was mentioned. When Dunkie mentioned that nutter he should have said “I'm out.” He didn't. No, he didn't want to look like a shitebag in front of the big boys. If he had any real stones he would have told Dunkie to take a fuck to himself. Instead he was sitting with a fucking shotgun under his seat waiting for that nutjob Willie Barr. Total... Fucking... Nightmare! Once more he sucked on th
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