I'm sorry, Mrs. Murphy.
That wasn't any fair. Spud going down and not me.
Well, it's not our fault!
Your boy went down because he was a smack-head,
and if that's not your fault, then I don't know what is.
That was that fucking cunt.
I'll get the drinks.
Aye.
I wished I'd gone down instead of Spud.
Here I was surrounded by my family and my so-called mates,
and I've never felt so alone, never in all my puff.
Since I was on remand, they've had me on this program.
The state-sponsored addiction.
Three sickly sweet doses
of methadone a day instead of smack.
But it's never enough.
And at the moment, it's nowhere near enough.
I took all three this morning,
and now I've got 18 hours to go till my next shot
and a sweat on my back like a layer of frost.
I need to visit the Mother Superior for one hit.
One fucking hit to get us over this long, hard day.
What's on the menu this evening, sir?
- Your favorite dish. - Excellent.
- Usual table, sir? - Oh, why, thank you.
Would sir care to pay for his bill in advance?
No, stick it on my tab.
Regret to inform, sir,
credit limit was reached and breached quite some time ago.
Oh, well, in that case.
Hard currency! That'll do nicely.
Can't be too careful when we're dealing with your type, can we?
Would sir care for a starter? Some garlic bread perhaps?
No, thank you. I'll proceed directly
to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.
As you wish, sir.
As you wish.
# Just a perfect day #
# Drink sangria in the park #
# And then later #
Perhaps sir would like me to call for a taxi?
# Just a perfect day #
# Feed animals in the zoo #
# Then later a movie, too, and then home #
# Oh, it's such a perfect day #
# I'm glad I spent it with you #
# Oh, such a perfect day #
# You just keep me hanging on #
# Just a perfect day #
# Problems all left alone #
# Weekenders on our own #
# It's such fun #
# Just a perfect day #
# You made me forget myself #
# I thought I was someone else #
# Someone good #
# Oh, it's such a perfect day #
# I'm glad I spent it with you #
# Oh, such a perfect day #
# You just keep me hanging on #
Open your eyes! Wake up!
Come on, wake up!
# Just what you sow #
# You're going to reap just what you sow #
I don't feel the sickness yet,
but it's in the post, that's for sure.
I'm in the junky limbo at the moment.
Too ill to sleep, too tired to stay awake.
But the sickness is on its way.
Sweat, chills, nausea, pain, and craving.
Need like nothing else I've ever known
will soon take hold of me.
It's on its way.
# Oh, you've got green eyes #
# Oh, you've got blue eyes #
# Oh, you've got gray eyes #
# And I've never seen anyone #
# Quite like you before #
# No, I've never met anyone #
# Quite like you before #
We'll help you, son.
You'll stay here with us till you get better.
We're gonna beat this together.
Maybe I should go back to the clinic.
No.
No clinics, no methadone.
That only made you worse. You said so yourself.
You lied to us, son, your own mother and father.
- You could bring us jellies. - No!
You're worse coming off that than heroin.
- Nothing at all. - It's a clean break this time.
You're staying here where we can keep an eye on you.
I appreciate what you're trying to do.
But I just need one more score.
Just bring me one more hit.
I need one more fucking hit!
You fuck!
Hit.
Well, this is a good fucking laugh, ain't it?
You sweat that shite out of your system,
'cause if I come back and it's still here,
I'll fucking kick it out.
Okay.
God.
Question number one.
The human immunodeficiency virus is a...
Retrovirus?
Retrovirus is the right answer!
It's a mug's game, Mrs. Renton.
I mean, I'm not saying I was blameless myself.
But there comes a time
when you have to turn your back on that nonsense
and just say no.
Just say no.
She's gone! She's gone!
Fuck.
Question number two.
H.I.V. binds to which receptor on the host lymphocyte?
Which receptor is that?
# I'm gonna try, I'm gonna try #
CD4.
CD4 is the right answer!
Better than sex, Rents.
Better than sex.
The ultimate hit.
I'm a fucking adult. I can find out for myself.
Well, I'm finding out, all right.
Tommy.
No!
Stop it. Fucking stop it.
Stop it. Stop it.
Is he guilty or not guilty?
He's our son.
Don't!
Stop!
Oh, my God!
Stop!
Mark.
There's something you need to do.
Ow!
Come alive, 35.
Lots of tricks, 66.
Mark, you've got a house!
House! House!
For goodness sake, Mark.
It seems I really am the luckiest guy in the world.
Several years of addiction in the middle of an epidemic,
surrounded by the living dead.
But not me. I'm negative.
It's official.
Once the pain goes away, the real battle starts.
Depression. Boredom.
You feel so fucking low, you'll want to fucking top yourself.
Tommy!
Tommy, it's Mark, man.
Renton.
Getting out much, Tommy?
No.
Following the game at all?
No.
Nah, me neither, really.
You take the test?
Aye.
Clear?
Aye.
That's nice.
I'm sorry, Tommy.
Got any gear on you?
No, I'm clean, man.
Well, sub us, then, mate.
I'm expecting a rent check.
Thanks, Mark.
No bother.
No bother, none at all.
Not for me, anyway.
It's easy to be philosophical
when it's some other poor cunt with shite for blood.
What do you want?
- Are you clean? - Yes.
Is that a promise, then?
Yes, it is.
Calm down. I'm only asking.
- Is that hash I can smell? - No.
I wouldn't mind a bit, if it is.
- Well, it isn't. - It smells like it.
- You're too young. - I'm too young for what?
You're not getting any younger, Mark.
The world's changing. Music's changing.
Even drugs are changing.
You can't stay in here all day
dreaming about heroin and Ziggy Pop.
It's Iggy Pop.
Whatever. I mean, the guy's dead anyway.
Iggy Pop is not dead. He toured last year.
The point is, you've got to find something new.
She was right. I had to find something new.
There was only one thing for it.
# So find the feeling #
# Boom, diggy diggy diggy, boom, diggy bang #
Lifestyle Leasing Agency.
Oh, yes, it's a beautifully converted Victorian townhouse.
Ideally located in a quiet road,
near to the local shops and transport.
This one's two bedrooms and a kitchen/diner.
Fully fitted in excellent decorative order.
Lots of storage space, and all mod cons.
And it's going at £320 a week.
I settled in not too badly and kept myself to myself.
Sometimes, I thought about the guys,
but mainly I didn't miss them at all.
After all, this was Boomtown,
where any fool could make cash from chaos and plenty did.
I've got a beautifully converted Victorian townhouse.
I quite enjoyed the sound of it all.
Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting,
subletting, subdividing,
cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking away.
Who's got the keys to Telegraph Road?
There was no such thing as society, and even if there was,
I most certainly had nothing to do with it.
For the first time in my adult life, I was almost content.
"Dear Mark...
I'm glad you've found a job and somewhere to live.
School is fine at the moment.
I'm not pregnant, but thanks for asking.
Your friend Sick Boy asked me last week to work for him,
but I told him where to go.
I met Spud, who sends his regards,
or at least I think that's what he said. "
"No one has seen Tommy for ages.
And finally, Francis Begbie has been on television a lot,
as he is wanted by the police
in connection with an armed robbery
in a jeweler's in Corstorphine.
Take care. Yours with love, Diane. "
"Francis Begbie."
Oh, no.
Armed robbery? With a replica?
I mean, how can it be armed robbery with a fucking replica?
Fucking scandal.
And the gear. Look.
Supposed to be solid silver. It's fucking garbage.
There's couples investing all their hopes in that stuff.
- It's a scandal, Franco. - Too fucking right it is.
And I don't want any pot noodles, by the way.
I'm fucking Lee Marvin.
Hey, Rents.
Begbie settled in in no time at all.
I've got no fucking cigarettes.
# We didn't have nowhere to live #
All right.
# Till someone said, "I know this place off Burditt Road" #
# It was on the 15th floor #
# It had a board across the door #
# It took an hour to pry it off and get inside #
# It smelt as if someone had died #
# The living room was full of flies #
# The kitchen sink was blocked #
It's me.
# The bathroom sink not there at all #
Franks!
# A mess all right #
# Yes, it's Mile End #
Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but it's true.
He's a mate also. What can you do?
# And now we're living in the sky #
# I'd never thought I'd live so high #
# Just like heaven if it didn't look like hell #
# The lift is always full of piss #
# The fifth-floor landing smells of fish #
# Not just on Friday, every single other day #
Hey.
Pop into bookie's and put a line on for us.
Can you not go yourself?
Well, seeing as how I'm a fugitive from the law,
and I can't even walk the fucking streets, you go.
Here.
Doncaster. 4:40.
£5 you win. Bad Boy.
Buy some fucking beer. I'm out.
Come on, Bad Boy!
Come on, son! Come on, son!
Come on! Come on!
Yeah!
Bad Boy!
Came in at 16 to 1.
And with the winnings, we went out to celebrate.
Diane was right. The world is changing.
Music is changing. Drugs are changing.
Even men and women are changing.
1, 000 years from now,
there'll be no guys and no girls, just wankers.
Sounds great to me.
It's just a pity no one told Begbie.
Fuck! Fuck!
You see, if you ask me, we're heterosexual by default,
not by decision.
It's just a question of who you fancy.
It's all about aesthetics,
and it's fuck-all to do with morality.
Fuck!
But you try telling Begbie that.
Look, I'm not a fucking bufty.
Let's face it. It could have been wonderful.
Fucking listen to me, you piece of junkie shit.
A joke's a fucking joke.
You mention that again, and I'll cut you up.
You understand?
Since I last saw him,
Sick Boy had reinvented himself as a pimp and a pusher
and was here, he said, to mix business and pleasure,
setting up "contacts," as he constantly informed me,
for the great scag deal that was going to make him rich.
Good chips.
I can't believe you did that.
I got a good price for it.
Rents, I need the money.
It was my fucking telly!
Well, if I'd known you were going to get so humpty,
I wouldn't have bothered.
Fucking rented, anyway.
You going to eat that?
Have you got a passport?
Why?
I met this bloke.
Runs a hotel, a brothel.
Loads of contacts.
Does a nice sideline
in punting British passports to foreigners.
Get you a good price.
And why would I want to sell my passport?
It was just an idea.
I had to get rid of them.
Sick Boy didn't do his drug deal, and he didn't get rich.
Instead, he and Begbie hung around my bed-sit
looking for things to steal.
I decided to put them in the worst place in the world.
# Sandman goes, two in tow #
# Wet and dumb #
# Coming down again #
They weren't paying any rent,
so when my boss found two suckers who would,
Sick Boy and Begbie were bound to feel threatened.
Yep, lots of storage. All mod cons.
320 quid a week.
- Aah! - Aah!
And that was that.
But by then we had another reason to go back.
Tommy.
Tommy knew he'd got the virus, like,
but he never knew he'd gone full-blown.
What was it, pneumonia or cancer?
No, toxoplasmosis.
Sort of like a stroke.
How's that?
He wanted to see Lizzy again.
She wouldn't let him near the house.
So he bought her a present, brought her this kitten.
I bet Lizzy told him where to stick it.
Exactly. "I'm not wanting that cat," she says.
Get the fuck, right.
So there's Tommy stuck with this kitten.
You can imagine what happened.
To those of us gathered here today,
Thomas McKenzie filled a number of different roles in our lives.
What? - Thomas was a son.
The thing was neglected.
Pissing and shitting all over the place.
Tommy's lying about,
fucked out of his eyeballs on smack or downers.
He never knew you could get toxoplasmosis from cat shit.
A loving man with a great lust for life.
Neither did I. What is it?
Fucking horrible.
It's like an abscess in your brain.
Fucking hell.
Then what happened?
He starts getting these headaches,
so he just uses more smack, you know, for the pain, like.
And then he has a stroke.
A fucking stroke. Just like that.
Gets home from the hospital and dies three weeks later.
He'd been dead for ages
before the neighbors complained about the smell
and got the police to break down the door.
Tommy was lying facedown in a pool of vomit.
He has gone from us,
but we have many things to remember him by.
The kitten was fine.
Would you all please rise now for the committal?
# Did you think I would leave you crying #
# When there's room on my horse for two? #
# Climb up here, Tommy, don't be dying #
# I can go just as fast with two #
# When we grow up, we'll both be soldiers #
# And our horses will not be toys #
# And I wonder if we'll remember #
# When we were two little boys #
- Tommy. - Tommy.
Did you tell him yet?
On you go.
What?
There's this mate of Swanney's.
You know the guy. Mikey Forrester.
Aye.
Well, he's come into some gear.
A lot of gear.
How much gear?
About two kilos, so he tells me.
He got drunk in a pub down by the docks last week,
where he met two Russian sailors.
They're fucking carrying this stuff for sale,
there and then, like.
So he wakes up the next morning,
realizes what he's done, gets very fucking nervous.
He wants rid of this, right?
So?
So he met me, and I offered to take it off his hands
at a very reasonable price, with the intention
of punting it on myself to a guy I know in London.
Ho ho-ho-ho!
We've just come back from Tommy's funeral,
and you're talking about a scag deal?
Aye.
What was your price?
- Four grand. - You haven't got four grand?
We're £2,000 short.
Well, that's tough.
Look, every cunt knows you've been saving up down in London.
I'm sorry. I do not have two grand.
Aye, you fucking do.
I've seen your bank statement.
For fuck's sake.
£2, 133.
Two kilos. What is that, 10 years?
Mikey Forrester? Russian sailors?
What the fuck are you boys on, eh?
Spud, you've already been to jail.
What's the deal? You like it so much you want to go back?
I just want the money, Mark.
If everybody keeps their mouth shut,
there'll be no cunt going to jail.
There were a lot of possibilities running
through my mind about what might happen in London.
Things I didn't want to talk to anyone about,
ideas best kept to myself.
No one told me when we bought the scag,
some lucky punter would have to try it out.
Begbie didn't trust Spud.
Sick Boy was too careful these days.
So I rolled up my sleeve, I spiked my vein,
and I did what had to be done.
It's good.
Oh, it's really fucking good.
Mmm. Ohh.
Yeah, that hit was good.
I promised myself another one before I got to London.
Just the one like. For old time's sake.
Just to piss Begbie off.
This was his nightmare.
The dodgiest scam in a lifetime of dodgy scams
being perpetrated with three of the most useless
and unreliable fuck-ups in town.
I knew what was going on in his mind.
Any trouble in London, and he would dump us immediately.
One way or another.
He had to.
If he got caught with a bagful of scag,
on top of that armed-robbery shit,
he was going down for 15 to 20.
Begbie was hard, but not so hard
that he didn't shite it off 20 years in Sultan.
This was to be my final hit.
But let's be clear about this.
There's final hits and final hits.
What kind was this to be?
Did you bring the cards?
- What? - The cards.
The last thing I told you was to mind the cards.
Well, I've not brought them.
Fucking boring after a while without the cards.
I'm sorry.
- Bit fucking late. - Why didn't you bring them?
'Cause I fucking told you to bring them, you doss cunt!
Christ.
These are your friends, right?
These are the guys I told you about.
- Well, is he here? - Yeah, he's here.
You didn't get followed, did you?
We didn't get followed.
Okay.
All right.
Aye.
Straightaway he clocked us for what we were.
Small-time wasters with an accidental big deal.
Excuse me, gentlemen.
So how much would you like for this?
£20,000.
Well, I don't think it's worth much more than £ 15,000.
This was a real drag to him.
He didn't need to negotiate.
What the fuck were we going to do if he didn't buy it?
Sell it on the streets? Fuck that!
Well, £ 19,000.
I'm terribly sorry. I can't go to £ 19,000.
Well, fucking £ 16,000, then.
Okay.
Well, fucking £ 16,000 it is, then.
These, gentlemen, are £2,000 bundles.
Here's two.
That's four.
We settled on £16, 000.
He had more in the suitcase, but it was better than nothing.
Thank you very much, gentlemen.
I'd like to say it's been a pleasure haggling with you.
Fucking brand-new, by the way.
Okay.
- Yes! - Yes!
Fucking...
And just for a moment, it felt really great.
Like we were in it together, like friends.
Like it meant something.
A moment like that can touch you deep inside.
But it doesn't last long, not like £16, 000.
So what about you, Spud, any investments on the horizon?
Gonna buy yourself a wee island in the sun?
For four fucking grand?
One palm tree, a couple of rocks, and a sewage outflow.
I don't know, man.
I'm gonna get something for my ma.
Get some good speed, no bicarb.
And get a girl, take her out, treat her right.
Shag her senseless.
No, man! True love.
Hey, but I could handle
some hot sex with a Jewish Princess.
- You daft cunt! - Or a Catholic!
If you're gonna waste it on a bird,
you may as well fucking leave all of it to me.
Now get the drinks.
- I got the last one. - It's your round, Franco.
Okay. Same again?
Right. I'm off for a pish.
See when I get back the money's still here, okay?
The moment your back's turned, we're out the door.
I'll be right fucking after you.
You'll never catch us, you flabby bastard.
By the way, see when I get back.
Be halfway down the street with the money.
Fucking kill you.
I thought you might, Franco.
I thought you might.
Are you game for it?
What?
Well?
Are you serious?
Don't know.
What do you think?
Still here, I see.
Oh, well, we wouldn't run out on a mate, eh?
Why not? I know I would.
Where's Franco?
For fuck's sake!
Sorry, mate.
You ruined my fucking suit, you fucking idiot.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.
Sorry's not gonna dry me off, you cunt.
Cool down, Franco. The man says he's sorry.
Not sorry enough for being a fat cunt.
If you can't hold a pint, you shouldn't be in the pub.
Fuck off.
Aah.
Oh! Oh, no! Oh, no!
Come on, Franco, move away. Aah!
Fuck's sake!
Oh, fucking nice one, Franco!
- Shut it! - You cut me, man!
You were in my fucking way.
Help!
Oh, no.
Anybody else want to get in my fucking way?
You?
Hey, Rent Boy, you bring me down a fucking smoke.
- I think we'd better go, Franco! - Go to the hospital!
You're not going to any fucking hospital, and you're staying.
You bring me down a fucking cigarette.
And the bag.
# Drive boy, dog boy, dirty, numb, angel boy #
# In-the-doorway boy, she was a lipstick boy #
# She was a beautiful boy, and tears, boy #
# And all in your inner space, boy #
# You had hand, girl's boy, and steel, boy #
# You had chemicals, boy #
# I've grown so close to you, boy #
# And you just groan, boy #
# She said, "Come over, come over" #
# She smiled at you #
# Bo-o-o-o-y #
# Drive boy, dog boy, dirty, numb, angel boy #
# In-the-doorway boy, she was a lipstick boy #
# She was a beautiful boy, and tears, boy #
# And all in your inner space, boy #
# You had hand, girl's boy, and steel, boy #
# You had chemicals, boy #
# I've grown so close to you, boy #
# And you just groan, boy #
# She said, "Come over, come over" #
# She smiled at you #
# Bo-o-o-o-y #
# Let your feelings slip, boy #
# But never your mask, boy #
# Random blonde bio, high-density rhythm #
# Blond boy, blond country blond #
# High density #
# You are my drug, boy #
# You're real, boy, speak to me, boy #
# Dog-dirty, numb-cracking boy #
# You get wet, boy #
# Big, big-time boy #
# Acid-bear boy #
# Babes and babes and babes and babes and babes #
# And remembering nothing, boy #
# Will you like my tin horn, boy? #
# And get wet like an angel, derail #
Now, I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways.
It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal.
Or we'd outgrown each other. You know, that sort of thing.
But let's face it. I ripped them off.
My so-called mates.
But Begbie. I couldn't give a shit about him.
And Sick Boy. He'd have done the same to me
if he'd only thought of it first.
And Spud. Well, okay, I felt sorry for Spud.
He never hurt anybody.
Bastard!
Fuck! Fuck!
All right, move away, people.
What's going on in there?
Open up. Open up now!
Bastard!
So why did I do it?
I could offer a million answers, all false.
The truth is that I'm a bad person,
but that's gonna change.
I'm going to change.
This is the last of that sort of thing.
I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on.
Going straight and choosing life.
I'm looking forward to it already.
I'm going to be just like you.
The job, the family, the fucking big television,
the washing machine, the car,
the compact disc, and electrical tin opener,
good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance,
mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage,
three-piece suite, D.I.Y., game shows,
junk food, children, walks in the park,
9:00 to 5:00, good at golf, washing the car,
choice of sweaters, family Christmas,
indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by,
looking ahead to the day you die.