The Acid House Read Online Free PDF

spliff. The pollem was very mellow. — You know, man, ye really caught me out acting the arsehole. All that Robbie shit. Call me what you always called me, back in Scotland. Back up Tollcross. Rab. That's who ah am. That's who ah'll always be. Rab Doran. Tollcross Rebels. T.C.R. Some fuckin times back mere, eh man?
    They were pretty desperate times really, but home always looks better when you're away from it, and even more so through a haze of hash. I colluded in his fantasies and we reminisced over more joints before hitting some bars and getting rat-arsed on alcohol.
    Despite the rediscovery of our friendship, I spent very little time with Rab, due mainly to the shifts I was working. During the day, if I wasn't taking my language classes, I'd be swotting up, or getting my head down before my shift at the hotel. One of the people who lived in the flat was a woman named Valerie. She helped me with my Dutch, which was coming along in leaps and bounds. My phrasebook French, Spanish and German were also improving rapidly due to the number of tourists I was coming into contact with in the hotel. Valerie became a good friend to me; more importantly, she had a friend called Anna, with whom I fell in love.
    It was a beautiful time for me. My cynicism evaporated and life started to seem like an adventure of limitless possibilities. Needless to say, I stopped seeing Chrissie and Richard and seldom went near the red-light district. They seemed a remnant of a seedier, more sordid time that I felt I had left behind. I didn't want or need to smear that gel on my cock and bury it in Chrissie's flabby arse anymore. I had a beautiful young girlfriend to make love to and that was what I did most of the day before staggering onto my late shift, strung out on sex.
    Life was nothing short of idyllic for the rest of that summer. This state of affairs changed one day; a warm, clear day when Anna and I found ourselves on Dam Square. I tensed as I saw Chrissie coming towards us. She was wearing dark glasses and looked even more bloated than ever. She was cloyingly pleasant and insisted we went to Richard's bar in Warmoesstraat for a drink. Though edgy, I felt that a greater scene would have been caused by cold-shouldering her.
    Richard was delighted I had a girlfriend that wasn't Chrissie. I had never seen him so open towards me. I felt a vague shame about my torturing of him. He talked of his home town of Utrecht.
    — Who famous comes from Utrecht? I gently chided him.
    — Oh, lots of people.
    — Aye? Name one?
    — Let me see, eh, Gerald Vanenberg.
    — The PSV guy?
    — Yes.
    Chrissie looked at us in a hostile manner. — Who the fuck is Gerald Vanenburg? she snapped, then turned to Anna and looked at her with raised eyebrows as if Richard and I had said something ridiculous.
    — A famous international footballer, Richard bleated. Trying to reduce the tension he added. — He used to go out with my sister.
    — I bet you wish he used to go out with you, Chrissie said bitterly. There was an embarrassed silence before Richard set us up with more tequila slammers.
    Chrissie had been making a fuss of Anna. She was stroking her bare arms, telling her that she was so slim and beautiful. Anna was probably embarrassed but was handling it well. I resented that fat dyke touching up my girlfriend. She became more hostile towards me as the drinks flowed, asking me how I was getting on, what I was up to. A challenging tone had entered her voice.
    — Only we don't see him so much these days, do we, Richard?
    — Leave it, Chrissie ... Richard said uneasily.
    Chrissie stroked Anna's peach cheek. Anna smiled back awkwardly.
    — Does he fuck you like he fucks me? In your pretty little bottom? she asked.
    I felt as if the flesh had been stripped from my bones. Anna's face contorted in discomfort, as she turned towards me.
    — I think we'd better go, I said.
    Chrissie threw a glass of beer over me and began verbally abusing me. Richard held her from behind