The Bad Samaritan
Grant had just been leathered by two junkies on Bath Street and was strewn across a stoop. It was two-for-one at the garage and he was wrecked. Lying in a pool of blood and his own pish, he shouted to a wee Glasgow Uni guy in a blazer heading back to the West End for help. The wee guy ignored him. Ten minutes passed. He spat a couple of teeth out and laughed. Three lassies sauntered passed, made up to the nines. They stopped so one could squat near some scaffolding, but they ignored Grant’s pleas for help, which came out as ‘gongeeeezlifhameena?’. Twenty minutes later, a jogger up before the sun came along. Grant asked him for aid.
“Alkie bastard” said the jogger.
“Cunt” said Grant.