[Telling Renton the truth about Begbie's story]
Tommy:
It was Wednesday morning. We were in the Volley, playing pool. That much is true. But, Begbie is playing absolutely fucking 'gash!'
[Cuts to pool hall]
Tommy:
He's got a hangover so bad, he can barely hold the cue, never mind pot a ball. And I'm doing my best to lose, you know trying to humour him like. But it's not doing any good. Every time I hit the ball, I seem to pot something. Every time Begbie goes near the table, he fucks it up.
[Tommy aims and hits the cue balls away from a cornered ball]
Tommy:
Oh, for fuck sake.
[the cue ball bounces around the table but ends up potting the ball he tried to miss]
Tommy:
So he's got the hump, right? But, finally I manage to set it up so that all he's gotta do is to pot the black, to savage a little bit of pride, and maybe not kick my head in, yeah? So he squares up... pressure shot...
[a man at the bar opens a pack of potato chips. The crunching sound putting Begbie off]
Tommy:
And it all goes wrong, big time!
[the same man, eats a potato chip. The even louder crunch noise causes Begbie to rip the table with his cue and knock the cue ball off the table and into Tommy's hand]
Begbie:
Fuck!
[Begbie travels over to the man, and cracks his cue over the man's back]
Tommy:
He picks on this speccy wee gadge at the bar, accusing him of putting him off by looking at him. I mean the man hasn't glanced in that direction.
Riportata da postmind il
02/03/2025 alle ore 22:40
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