Naw Much of a Talker

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It aw started long afore that. Ah kid jist as well make oot but: it aw started that wan evenin, a few days eftir they let me ootae the Joke.

Boot ten in the evenin, it wis. Hawf past, mibbe. An’ see the wind? The wind widda cut right through ye, fuckin freezin it wis. Fog Valley. It November an’ aw. Ma heart wis like a soakin-wet flair-cloth, it wis that heavy.

So ah takes masel intae Cobbles, fancied a wee coffee ah did, wi a guid shot ae schnapps in it.

The dosh they gi’e ye when ye leave the nick ahd awready blown awready, naw that ah kidda tellt ye whit oan.

So there ah wis: fuck aw dosh, desperate furra coffee but, wi schnapps in it, furra bit o company an’ aw, a cunt or two tae talk tae.

Ahm tellin ye, arent ah? Ma pockets wur empty, part fae a few fags, a few coins. Things wur a bit tight like. Tighter than tight, tae be honest. Waitin on money some cunt owed me, ah wis. Try sayin that but when yir fresh ootae the nick. Ahm owed a whack o money, jist dont hiv it yet.

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