The street’s silent an cauld, the last bite ay winter’s teeth clamped tae the mornin, hingin oan in a furtive, futile last effort, in defiance ay the...
The flames huv died doon an receded when ah look in the metal dustbin. Ah’d punctured holes in it the previous summer tae make a wee incinerator fur...
The walk back tae the motor is slow an contemplative. An wet. Scanlon’s right. Ah’m in too deep wae this cunt. He’s goat his claws in an he’s no fur...
‘HAIL HAIL, THE CELTS ARE HERE, WHAT THE HELL DO WE CARE, WHAT THE HELL DO WE CARE!’ loud singin comes boomin intae ma room fae the street below. The...