Dead Men's Trousers by Irvine Welsh

Author:Irvine Welsh
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Jonathan Cape
Published: 2018-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

19

RENTON – DECKED

Never work wi a Jambo cunt fae the west side ay Edinburgh. Being steeped in a broth of Gumley mediocrity, schemes too drab tae be offensive, snobby-but-shite bungalows and that dark tumour on the city that is Gorgie-Dalry tenementland, serves to leave an indelible stain of moral weakness. Carl vanished after his birthday bash and finding him was a nightmare. I eventually tracked him down at the BMC club yesterday, where he helpfully introduced me as a ‘Hibs cunt, but awright’ tae the ching-snorting, crap-beer-guzzling occupants ay this seedy blood-relative-battering shithole. It gets even worse as I have Conrad and Emily ootside in the limo on Gorgie Road. When I manage tae get Carl, who apart from his two fucking heavy record flight cases has nothing but the clathes on his back and whae smells like a cross between a blocked lavy and the local brewery, intae the vehicle, the Dutch maestro roars, — You smell bad! I must sit up front!

So fat boy moves up beside the driver, leaving me sitting bitch between minging Ewart and Emily, who keeps groping my thigh. Carl can smell nothing outside the rancid chemicals clogging his ravaged nostrils and sinuses, but he witnesses her actions through a drunken, sleepy haze and gies ays a creepy, licentious smirk. Then he bursts intae ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ which segues intae ‘Hearts, Hearts, Glorious Hearts’, before he passes out.

— Fuckin B-side cunt, I laugh. The limo driver is Hibs and gets the joke.

When we arrive in Berlin, Carl, comatose on the flight, is suddenly animated again. I pick him out a couple ay T-shirts fae the Hugo Boss shop at the airport. — Cool, he sais aboot one, and, — My ma wouldnae dress me in that shite, Renton, regarding the other. He cheers up when we meet Klaus, the promoter, at the hotel bar. A dance-music veteran, he makes a big fuss ay Carl, immediately sorting us both out with ching. — N-Sign is back! I was at that party outside Munich, many years ago. The crazy one. Your friend… he climbed onto the roof!

— Aye, says Carl.

— How is that guy?

— Deid. He jumped off a bridge back in Edinburgh, shortly after that.

— Oh… I am sorry to hear this… Was it the drugs?

— Everything is the drugs, mate, Carl says, signalling for another lager. The first never touched the sides, and you can see it flooding back into the toxic reservoir inside him, recharging it. This could be a shit gig.

Conrad starts moaning about his room being too small. The cunt is acting out because my old homie is getting the star treatment from Klaus. Then Emily’s all nippy, because my little boys’ club is sooo much more important than her. I’m fucking exhausted and we’ve only just got here. This will be a shit gig.

The Tempelhofer Feld is on the site of the old Berlin Flughafen, which shut down several years back. They plan to make it into a refugee camp.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.