Graftin

There’s a collection ay spittle, spreadin ootwardly, concentrically fae where ah’m staunin oan the platform.  Ah examine their positions studiously, ma creation - a galaxy ay salivary constellations an sputum based planetary forms laid oot in front ay me; me the life gien sun at the centre ay it aw.  Ah reckon ah kin quite comfortably take aim and land the vessels ay dribble anywhere within a fifteen feet diameter.  

  A young bird, professional lookin strides acroass the platform flair, lookin up at me, then back doon oan the flair where some ay ma spit hud landed in front of her. She looks again at me wae a burnin contempt an continues oan her waiy. 

The train approaches fae the east an ma stomach churns, ma mooth feels arid an dry. Ah wonder if it’s related tae the reserves ay saliva expended oan the flair or the joint ah’d smoked oan the walk alang tae the station. Baith, ah imagine.

Butterflies noo. Fuckin nerves, always happens when ah’m gaun intae the unknown. Ah wis like this afore the exams fur ma Highers. Ah hud a lot ridin oan that, the expectations ay ma maw an granda at the forefront ay ma thoughts. She’d mare or less telt every cunt it wis a foregone conclusion, ah wis gonae be the first Coyle tae go tae University. Nae pressure then.

The mornin ay wan such exam fur English, McDade an Pearcey hud been oan at me tae fuck it off tae go shopliftin wae them oot the toon.

They’d spent the first hauf ay the year since the January sales honin their craft an by that point were adept in the waiys ay the thievin bastart.

They walked wae me tae the school, nippin ma ear the full waiy aboot how ah wis wastin ma time an ah might as well go wae them an dae a turn.

It culminated in me an McDade huvin a square go ootside the school gates as ah telt him in nae uncertain terms tae get tae fuck.

Ah went intae ma exam, school polo shirt near hingin aff ma back, covered in grass stains, stomach gaun like a washin machine, an sat the test. Goat a B in the end up, so no a complete wash oot but ah widnae recommend it as a motivational technique.

Ah did join Pearcey oan a later shoppin trip - watchin him first, in his bedroom as he lined the interior ay a rucksack wae tin foil, then later, fae acroass the road ay a major High Street fashion outlet, as he nicked in an then back oot in under ten minutes, complete wae said rucksack full ay hauf-inched claes.

He wisnae good at much, Pearcey, but thievin. . . second tae none man. Nae danger.

The train pulls away fae Shettleston, full ay cunts ay varyin demographics, united in their dread at bein shuttled tae their place ay work tae grind oot another thirty nine hours - minimum - in some soul destroyin role they’d never, even in their darkest moments, dared contemplate they’d wan day facilitate in their idealistic, formative years.

Ah shudder at the realisation that ah’m noo wan ay them; briefly unshackled fae the machine as ah wis, ah’d joined McDade an Pearcey in a flirtation wae the underbelly ay society.  

The wans that faw between the cracks. The forgotten tribe. Social misfits. The miscreants nae cunt wants, nor needs, cast asunder oan tae the pile ay social security numbers, social worker’s case files an ever expandin criminal records - the only documentation tae validate their sorry existence.  

It’s goat a fatalistic element tae it wae some cunts. Predetermined; a course set oot an irrevocable, leadin doon wan path only.

 Pearcey? He’s nae chance, the poor cunt.

 He wis left, abandoned at the door ay the pineapple when he wis a wean - a baby; his maw, a junkie hooer, an him an unwanted problem; a by-product ay the cycle ay misery perpetuated by junk an played oot by the actors in its puppet theatre, tethered as they ur by their strings.

It wisnae a complete disaster fur him, as his granny eventually claimed him an brought him up as best she could.

Ah first met him playin in the street when ah wis. . . fuck knows. . . six or seven. It wis warm - summertime. The poor cunt wis nibblin the remainin white breid aff ay crusts that hud been flung oan tae the streets fur the birds tae eat. He wis a scruffy wee cunt, aw skint knees an snotters but ah took tae him, even then.

McDade came later. Wan day oer in the park, we saw him gettin tormented by aulder lads. They took his baw aff him an were toyin wae him, passin it aboot between themsels. ‘Nice baw wee man, Mitre Delta. Cheers!’ they sais tae him afore fuckin off wae it, laughin tae themsels whilst he wis staunin greetin, the fuckin blouse. ‘They took ma baw.’ he sais, tears streamin doon his face.

‘Mone we’ll get it back then.’ Pearcey sais, liberating a golf club fae another wean’s possession. ‘ah’ll bring it back.’ he sais an the three ay us chased efter the cunts who were disappearin fae sight.

 ‘Whit ye gonae dae wae that wee man?’ wan ay them sais when we caught up tae them. He didnae need tae ask again as Pearcey skelpt him aboot wae it, the big bullyin bastart foldin like a pack ay cairds. His gormless pal couldnae process whit he wis witnessin an flung the baw back tae us afore scoopin his pal - complete wae egg shaped lump on his heid - up, an fuckin off oer the park back tae whitever scheme it wis they came fae.

That’s when oor wee gang started. The fuckin three amigos. Been like that ever since. We bounce aboot wae other crowds, as ye dae but it always ends up back tae the three ay us.

Ah staun up fae ma seat oan the train wae the rest ay them as the train slows doon, drawin intae Queen Street Station - mare cattle fur the meat grinder, waitin tae be corralled aff intae a week ay servitude an conformity.

 

Turnin the corner oan tae Union Street fae Gordon Street ah see it staunin there, towerin high above me, high above the throng ay people scuttlin aboot markin the beginnins ay the mornin rush - the address Robertson fae the joab centre gave me. He sais ye cannae miss it, he wisnae lyin man. Every square fit ay the buildin’s wrapped in scaffoldin, the scaffoldin is wrapped in nettin wae signage oer it, Jamieson Construction Ltd bein the main wan.

Robertson sais the site huts is where ah’ve tae meet this McGregor cunt who’s gonae show me whit’s whit.

Ma fuckin arse draps as the mechanical hoist bangs doon intae position at the bottom ay the scaffold, much tae the hilarity ay the cunts staunin smokin, huddled roon a door.

 Ah sheepishly walk through them an intae the buildin, the door slammin behind me, immediately silencin their chatter an the hum ay the street.

There’s a gloom tae the place, lit as it is wae festoons full ay dull lightbulbs crudely hung alang the waws ay the hallway. At a guess, ah’d say mare than hauf ay them ur oot.

A signin in book wae a biro cellotaped tae a bit ay string sits oan a table. Some cunt’s spray painted oan the waw, ShITE OFFICE wae an arra pointin taewards a stairwell. At the first flair landin, ah get oot tae the scaffoldin where the office is.

‘HOAW YOU!’ a voice comes fae oer ma shoulder. ‘Aye, it’s you ah’m talkin tae!’ ah wee five fit, nothin cunt sais, marchin taewards me, full ay business. ‘Where dae ye hink you’re gaun?’ he sais, jabbin his finger at me fur the removal ay any doubt. ‘Ah’m. . .eh, startin work here the day.’ ah sais.

‘Work?’ he sais, bemused.

‘Aye, work.’ ah sais.

‘Naw, naw naw. Ye canae be workin oan ma site. If ye were workin oan ma site ye’d huv oan yer Peeeee Peeeee Eeeeeee. Where is it?’

‘Where’s whit?’

‘Yer Peeeeeee Peeeeeeee Eeeeeeeee.’

‘Ma pee pee whit?’

‘Peeeeeeee Peeeeeeee Eeeeeeeeee! Personal Protective Equipment!’ he sais, sprayin me wae the words. Nae danger man.

 ‘Ah think that wans wae me.’ a voice comes fae behind the wee pencil moustached prick. ‘Daniel, ah take it?’ he sais, the name Joe McGregor inked oan tae his fluorescent vest.

‘Aye, just call me Danny though.’ ah sais, shakin his haun, which ur like fuckin spades, the cunt. Rough as saunpaper an aw.

The haunshake: an age auld tradition, through which men seek tae establish dominance oer their counterpart by mercilessly crushin their opposite number’s haun until wan, unable tae endure the pain anymare, relents, releases their grip an submits tae the superior man.

If that’s no the definition, then nae cunts telt Joe.   

He’s goat a warmth tae him though as he smiles an does that wee wink only some cunts kin pull aff.

‘No gettin aff tae the best ay starts is he Joe?’ the wee prick sais. ‘Ah cannae huv folk stoatin in aff the street an walkin aboot ma site wae nae Peeeeee Peeeeee Eeeeeeee, kin ah? Nae good tae man nor beast, that. Did ye sign in doon the stair?’ he sais, his wee beady eyes trained oan me.

‘Sign in? Eh, aye ah did. Definitely.’ ah lie.

‘Well, that’s somethin ah suppose, int it? Joe, get this boiy kitted oot an don’t let me see ye walkin aboot ma site like that again, eh?’ he sais, his wee pencil moustache collectin wee globules ay sweat oan it addin tae ma intense dislike ay the wee prick. Whit a fuckin state tae get yersel intae.

‘Nae bother mate.’ ah sais.

‘It’s John. John Draper, if ye don’t mind. An ah’m no yer mate!’ he sais, walkin away, talkin intae a walkie talkie, startin another self-induced, high stress conversation wae some other poor cunt. ‘Sorry aboot that.’ Joe sais. ‘he’s a bit highly strung, hairmless though if ye just leave him tae bump his gums.’ Ah nod in blatant disregard fur the flaky we’d just witnessed, Joe’s weak explanation indicatin that we hudnae seen the last ay such episodes.

‘Where aboots ur ye fae anywaiy?’ he sais.

‘Shettleston, no too bad, ah just get the train in.’ ah sais, wae remarkable conviction.

‘Train? Fuck that.’ he sais, visibly offended at the thought. ‘Ah’m up in Cranhill, nae problem tae swing by oan the waiy an get ye.’ Nae excuses noo Danny boy. Captured man.

‘That’s magic Joe. Cheers ma man, minted.’ ah sais.

‘First things first. We need tae get ye kitted oot. Ah’ve goat yer boots an that in the van.’ he sais, cuppin his hauns the gither, sparkin the roll-up he hud behind his ear. ‘Mone.’ he sais, an makes fur the stairs.

 

Loadin the last ay the tools intae the van, ah look doon the street tae the clock oan the Irn-Bru sign above Central Station. Ten past six. Gets his pun ay flesh oot ye, this McGregor. Nae danger.

We’d stoapped wance - the quickest hour ay ma life - then worked oan till Joe sais we’d done enough.

Aw day long ah’ve kept masel gaun repeatin tae masel just get tae the end ay the shift, just get tae the end ay the shift. Ah’d repeat it internally as ah inhaled an exhaled, ma breathin laboured as ah climbed up an doon stairs wae bags ay plaster an sheets ay gyprock, sweat pishin oot me.

That moment hud come.

Ah pull aff the boots Joe hud gied me, each wan launched wae venom intae the back ay the van, then lie doon fur a second oan tae some auld overalls an a jaicket that ur lyin there. ‘Fuck sake, will ye check the nick ay this?’ Joe sais, drappin a can ay ginger oan tae ma stomach. ‘Workin ye too hard, um ah?’ he sais.

Ignorin the question ah sit up an open the can, voraciously stankin it doon.

‘Whit’s the matter wae ye? A young cunt like you should be ready tae go again man. Quick break than back intae it man.’ he sais, like he’s considerin it as a viable option. ‘Just noisin ye up, kid.’ he sais ‘Even ah widnae dae that tae ye oan yer first day.’

Oan the drive hame, he pulls doon the visor in the van an a pre-rolled joint faws doon oan tae his lap. ‘Take a toke yersel?’ he sais, sparkin it. Ah nod an he hauds it tae me efter he’s hud a few digs.

Ah take a couple ay puffs, inhalin deeply then gie him it back afore restin ma eyes fur a wee minute.

 ‘Danny, wake up man!’ ah’m woken by Joe fuckin violently shakin me. ‘That’s us here. Ah’ll get ye back here at ten tae seven the morra, awright kid?’

‘Aye, sound Joe.’ ah sais, an pour masel oot the door tae the busy bus stoap he’s pult intae.

‘An Danny, nae rippin the heid aff it the night. Ah need ye tae huv aw yer energy fur the shift the morra. Goat loast grun fae the day tae make up!’ he shouts, grinnin, then grinds the van intae gear an pulls away laughin, coverin every cunt - me, two auld guys, an auld woman an three lassies, who ur aw waitin fur their respective buses, but ur noo pishin themsels laughin at me - in a plume ay white smoke.