Ye Think So
by Michael Gribbin

Story originally published in:
thi wurd magazine, issue #1
Friday, the only day ay the week that a practically run hame fae school, well no fae school ah’ve been doggin it fur the best part ay three month. Ah’ve still got tae act like a wis it school though jist in case ma Maw asks any questions, which she probably won’t. Ah’m goin through ma to do list fur when a get in the hoose, same list ah’ve got every Friday. Run a bath, get ma clothes out that ah’m gonnae wear the night, roll a joint, smoke half and leave the other half fur eftir ma bath. Then ah’ll hiv a pot noodle, two slices ah toast and a cup a tea, Gordon Ramsey eat yer heart out.

A took longer gettin ready than a thought, its ten tae six and ah’m meant tae be gettin Paul at the Roch park at six. A grab ma tracky tap and shout cheerio, hoose could be empty fur aw a know. A jog up Royston road, don’t want tae keep the cunt waiting cause it’s a bit dodgy up there. The street lights are just comin on as the sky’s gone that dark overcast way but its no raining. Jist a bit windy, but fur Glesga it’s a nice night.

A cross at the lights at the Roch park, an see Sherz stawnin waitin, cunts got that bright yella Adidas tracky on. He looks like a banana on the Atkins diet, every time he wears it a slag him, it’s almost borin now.

“Awrighty mate? Wits the Hampden?” He sais, rubbin his hands together.

“Usual mate, sorry ah’m a bit late took longer washin ma baws than a thought,” a sais, cuppin ma bollocks in ma hand.

“A wis it ma cousins there, she sorted is out.” Then he puts an arm round me. “She gave is a quarter on tick,” he sais, and opens is hand tae show me the dope.

“Quality, ah’ll get your bottle a tonic then.” We start walkin up towards Blackhill. A don’t like Blackhill, but it’s the easiest place tae get your drink. Dodgy as fuck but. We get a guy tae go in fur is straight away so we don’t hiv tae stawn aboot. Its sivin o’clock but its that dark ye’d think it was two in the mornin. A jist want tae get back doon the road soon as.

We get oor bottles aff the guy and head back doon the road. Sherz grabs ma arm, “Mon roon this way mate, ma cousin gave us something else.” He nods over tae the closes across fae the shops. Before a get a chance tae voice ma concerns aboot cruisin this shite hole ay a scheme, he’s awready started walkin so a jist follow.

We go intae the nearest close, it’s fuckin reekin a pish but a suppose every close in Blackhill smells a pish, maybe the odd wan smells a shite. Provanmill they call it now, but its Blackhill tae every cunt that knows it. Sherz pulls his hawn out his joggies and holds it in front of me. There’s these four wee square things there, got black dots all oer them.

“Whit ur they?” A sais, lookin down at them then back at his face.

“Black star micro dots.”

“An whit the fucks that when its at hame?”

“Acid tabs ya daft bastard.” He laughs and shakes his heid, but a bet the wee cunt asked his cousin the same question when she showed them tae him.

Ah’ve never tried acid, jist heard ay other peoples experiences, some good, some bad. He takes two and puts them in his mouth, he puts his hand out tae me, “They’re your two mate.” So ah take them, pop them in. A feel them dissolve intae ma tongue, it’s weird. No goin back now.

He opens his bottle a tonic and takes a gulp ay it, a pull oot the rizla and fags. “Geez the hash, might as well skin up now.”

“Aye mate, we’ll head eftir a joint.”

We smoke it down, and a take a few swigs ay ma wine.

“We shootin?” A sais, pointin tae ma watch, “Big Ped n that will be wonderin where the fuck we ur.” Jist as a finish ma sentence Sherz’s face goes chalk white.

“Shit mate, it’s the coppers!” He turns and throws his bottle intae the garden next tae him, a dae the same.

The polis pull in and get oot the motor, it’s a burd n a guy. She’s no bad lookin, bout the same height as me, though ah’m only a wee cunt. The guy on the other hand is well oer six fit. A know straight away the guys gonnae be a wank, trying tae show aff in front ay her, it’s always the same. The usual line ay questionin, wit yeez up tae, where yeez fae, wit yeez dain here, must be in the polis handbook under the headin, “How To Ask Daft Questions, And Be An Annoying Prick”. The burd is an absolute bitch, the face in a constant growl, but that jist adds tae her sex appeal, she kin keep that face on fur the money shot, is aw ah’m thinking.

She writes doon oor names, addresses, date a birth, aw that shite, while the cunt searches Paul. Ah’m shitein it big time, wis hopin they widnae search us cause ah’ve still got the Bob Marley in ma back pocket. Nae chance a kin ditch it now. Once he’s finished wae Paul he turns tae me, tells me tae lift my arms up. He starts paddin me down, ma heart is gonnae jump out ma chist its beatin that hard. A feel like the cunt in Midnight Express, ye know that bit at the airport? Somebody up there loves me but, cause he disnae go near ma arse, he stawns up n jist nods tae porno face, she puts away the notebook. He turns back round tae face us, puts his hawns on his belt n puffs oot his chist, every Glesga boy could tell ye wit he’s gonnae say now.

“A don’t want tae see either ay you two again the night awright? Cause if a dae ah’m gonnae stick ma fit that far up yur fuckin arse you’ll be able tae taste shoe polish.” His voice is loud, and a must say, quite intimidatin. Then he points at Paul, “N you’ll be weekendered, have I made mysel clear?” He’s givin both ay us this mad stare, cunt probably practices it in the mirror. The two ay us jist nod. Keepin up the innocent act, as ye do.

They walk back towards the car. As wee ‘Cum on my face’ opens her door she turns and gies a last look over her shoulder. Sherz is hivin a scratch at his baws.

“YE THINK SO?!” she shouts, slammin her door and runnin back at us. Both ay us ur jist stawnin, nae point tryin tae run now they’ve got our details. She disnae say a word, jist kicks him right in the stovies. He goes doon like a ton ay bricks, then she pulls the handcuffs oot.

“Wit did he dae?!” A sais, but she ignores me n forces the cuffs on him. The copper guy walks oer, “Wit is it? Wit did the wee prick dae?”

“This arsehole here grabbed his crotch, makin a gesture at me.” She pulls Paul to his feet, but he’s doubled oer wae the pain, she must’ve got him a belter.

“He wisnae, he wis scratching his nuts.” A plead, trying tae defend ma mate, since he’s no got the breath tae talk the now.

“Itchy baws ma arse, ye think ah’m fuckin stupid?” She geez me a look like she widny mind a good toe at ma plums an aw.

“Do you want tae come tae then?” The guy asks me, awready knowin the answer. So a take a step back n jist shake ma heid, nae point the two ay us gettin the jail fur fuck aw.

They throw him intae the back ay the motor, n the bitch geez me a smile, fucking cow a think, but ah’d still ride her, even mair now. They drive away, poor bastard won’t be oot til Monday mornin. Thank fuck ah’m no sixteen cause ah’d be in as well. His Maw’ll kill him, but ah’m mer worried aboot masel. As if this place wisnae dicey enough ah’ve got to walk hame on ma tod, n a kin feel they tabs startin tae kick in.

thi wurd magazine / thi wurd books