“Murder, He Wrote” – An Extract from Hoi Polloi, by David Murray

Posted: April 22, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Swiftly under the cover ay darkness, ah slog around the manky streets ay Glasgow’s pride and joy.  It’s just rained, and the streets are glistenin’ with all the colourful shiny street light reflections and a particular essence ay New Vegas.  The place is full ay filth these days.  Crooked coppers versus the junkie scum or nightclub thugs, and the likes.  Corrupt politicians, who’re only out tae make a few bob and fill their own pockets, despite the shite state ay affairs the country’s in.  Then there’s the quintessential ‘Ladies of the Night’.  Where are they all fae, really?  They crawl out ay their gutter holes at night like nocturnal werebats in search ay male flesh and blood tae feast upon, and once they’ve fed, they disappear intae the depths ay night time society, or back intae the dirty sodden hole they slinked out ay.  She levies tax upon tax tae make a few for herself, and in the process, she unwittingly singles herself oot tae me.  The wolf in sheep’s clothing.  Me, and only me.  These are ma streets.  Ma pen.  You skanky slag.  Here, ah make the rules.

Ah can see the bitch casually stridin’ back and forth at the Old Fruitmarket section ay Merchant City.  She’s tryin’ tae bait the masculine virile drivers as they pass by, revvin’ their wee boy-racer-mobiles and tootin’ their silly modified ice-cream van horns.  They probably think they’re wee hard cunts.  Well, ah’m harder.  The way she opens the flaps on that wee belt ay a skirt ay hers is turnin’ me on.  Ah feel the urge tae reach for ma groin area, but stop myself.  Seriously, ah need tae move.  Ah can see the inside ay her thighs when she does it.  She cunningly displays the very point where her pink frilly pants descend towards the hidden void.  She slides her palms between her legs as they pass.  She must think she’s Marilyn Monroe wearin’ the wind dress.  She touches herself on her soft, warm lookin’ melt in the mouth night-walker flesh.  Ma eyes are transfixed on this dirty tramp.

These thoughts ay revulsion enter ma heid as ah prowl for the unsuspectin’ victim.  Ah’ll catch the boot by surprise.  She’ll no’ know what’s happened.  She’ll be too busy countin’ her pocket change and fixin’ her lip stick tae know what’s about tae go down.  Ah’ve made up ma mind, and now ah’m headin’ in for the kill.  The hunter has its prey in sight.  Ah build up the pace and ma feet splash the puddles the faster ah get.  Ah’m almost within reach…  Almost.

Ah reel back in shock as some wee specky prick wades in before ah can reach her.  The devastation radiates from ma entire body as ah light up like a brand new fuel cell in a nuclear power plant.  Ah was hotter than Fukishima at this point in time.  Ah now found myself slap-bang in the middle ay a moral dilemma.  The temptation tae proceed without bein’ caught was there, but that bastard was debatin’ prices with her.  C’mon pal, the price is right, as Bruce once said.  Get tae fuck so ah can do ma shift. The need for that free license tae kill began tae subside as Mr Joe-90 sealed the deal.  Kerching!  Ah could’ve just walked up and offered a better price, but that’s no’ the point.  They’d have seen ma face. The game was up.  Ah still know where to find you though…  Hooker-Bitch.

Joe-90 and Hooker-Bitch – 1

Murder, He Wrote – 0

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