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board–treading ootay the system first. Fucking toss bags, don't you agree, Scan, ma auld fellow former milkdelivering mucker?
    Yesh Shimon, I shink you may have a shtrong point thair. Auld Sean and I have so many parallels. Both Edina lads, both ex–co–op milk boys. Ah only did the Leith run, whereas sean, if ye listen tae any auld fucker, delivered milk tae every household in the city. Child labour laws were more lax then, I suppose. One area in which wi differ is looks. Sean is completely out–Sean in that department by Simone.
    Now Rents is gibbering oan aboot Calileo and Mother Courage and Baal and aw that shite. The bitches seem quite impressed n aw. Why fuck me insensible! This doss cunt actually does have his uses. It's an amazing world. Yesh Shimon, the more I shee, the less I beheve. You an me boash, Sean.
    The oriental mantos depart tae the show, but they've agreed tae meet us for a drink in Deacons afterwards. Rents cannae make it. Boo–fucking–hoo. Ah'll cry masel tae sleep. He's meeting Ms Mogadon, the lovely Hazel . . . ah'll just have to amuse both chickies ... if ah decide to show up. Ah'm a busy man. One musht put duty fursht, eh Sean? Preshishly Shimon. Ah shake off Rents, he can go and kill himself with drugs. Some fucking friends I have. Spud, Second Prize, Begbie, Matty, Tommy: these punters spell L–i–M–i–T–E–D. An extremely limited company. Well, ah'm fed up to ma back teeth wi losers, no–hopers, draftpaks, schemies, junkies and the likes. I am a dynamic young man, upwardly mobile and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting
    ...
    the socialists go on about your comrades, your class, your union, and society. Fuck all that shite. The Tories go on about your employer, your country, your family. Fuck that even mair. It's me, me, fucking ME, Simon David Williamson, NUMERO FUCKING UNO, versus the world, and it's a one–sided swedge. It's really so fucking easy . . . Fuck them all. I admire your rampant individualishm, Shimon. I shee parallelsh wish myshelf ash a young man. Glad you shed that Sean. Others have made shimilar comments. Ugh ... a spotty fucker in a Hearts scarf . . . yes, the cunts are at home today. Look at him; the ultimate anti–style statement. Ah'd rather see ma sister in a brothel than ma brother in a Hearts scarf n that’s fuckin true ... ay oop, another strapping lass ahead ... backpacker, good tan ... mmmm ... suck, fuck, suck, fuck... we all fall down .
    ... where to go ... work up a sweat in the multigym at the club, they've got a sauna and a

    14

    sunbed now. get the muscles toned up ... the smack heebie–jeebies are now just an Unpleasant memory. The Chinky chickies, Marianne, Andrea, Ali ...which lucky ride will ah stick it intae the night? Who's the best fuck? Why me, of course. I might even find something at the club. The dynamics are magic. Three groups; women, straight guys and gay guys. The gay guys are cruising the straight guys who are club bouncer types with huge biceps and beer guts. The straight guys are cruising the women, who are into the lithe, fit buftie boys. No bashturd actually getsh what they want. Exshept ush, eh Sean? Preshishly Shimon.
    I hope ah don't see the buftie that cruised us the last time ah wis in. He told me in the cafeteria that he had HIV, but things were cool, it was no death sentence, he'd never felt better. What kind of a cunt tells a stranger that? It's probably bullshit. Sleazy fuckin queen . . . that reminds us, ah must buy some flunkies . . . but there's no way you can get HIV in Edinburgh through shagging a lassie. They say that wee Goagsie got it that way, but I reckon that he’s been daein a bit ay mainlining or shit–stabbing on the Q.T. If ye dinnae get it through shootin up wi the likes ay Renton, Spud, Swanney n Seeker, it's obviously no got your name on it . – . still . . . why tempt fate . . . but why not . . . at least ah know that ah'm still here, still alive, because as long as there's an opportunity tae get