by ionnsaigh » Thu Mar 15, 2007 10:25 am
Rid Road,
It must be nearly spring time, awe the wee fluers are commin up, a kin jist see them fae up here. Wee colors bringing some faint distant glimmer o hope, set amongst these giant monuments to architectural neglect, sixties monoliths, that stand in condemnation. Mrs Wilson was saying tae the wife that their wiz anothur murder last night, a tell ye a don't know wits happenin, in this blidy place. Wan o the asylum seekers fae up the next block. A wee boy only sixteen stabbed in the heid, Auld Mrs Wilson says there is blood awe ooer the place. The polis come up, dae the business an take aff. Maist o them treat the people with utter contempt. Am tellin ye man am feckin had it way up here. We seem tae be gettin alang wa oor new neighboors. the weans are really nice , a wee bit shy, bit nice if ye know wit a mean, they shits acroos the landin hate them , don't even look the road there oan. Wi hiv some auld weans books in the hoose am gonnae go ooer the night wae them, see wit happens.
O'Donnchadha