Quimper

But The Good Times 

couldn't last forever. 

[ Woman Screaming ] 
[ Screaming Continues ] 
No! My God, no! 

[ Renton Narrating ] 

I think Allison had been 

screaming all day... 

But it hadn't really 

registered before. 

[ Screaming ] 

She might have been screaming 

for a week for all I knew. 

[ Continues Screaming ] 

It had been days since I'd 

heard anyone speak. 

Help me! 

Though surely someone must have 

said something in all that time. 

[ Screaming Continues ] 

Surely to fuck someone must have. 

Allison. Allison! 

[ Allison Screaming ] 

Help me, please! 

Hey, calm down! 

[ Screaming Continues ] 

Spud :

Everything'll be just fine. 

[ Renton Narrating ] 

Nothing could have been 

further from The Truth. 

[ Both Screaming ] 

In point of fact, nothing 

was gonna be just fine. 

[ Screaming Continues ] 

On the contrary, everything 

was gonna be bad. ‘Bad’. 

I mean, everything was 

gonna be even worse 

than it already was. 

No! My God! No! No! 

[ Screaming Continues ] No! My God! No! No! 

[ Screaming Continues ] [ Allison Wailing ] - [ Wailing Continues ] - [ Softly ] Fuck. [ Wailing, Screaming Continue ] [ Renton Narrating ] 

It wasn't My Baby. She wasn't My Baby. Baby Dawn, she wasn't mine. 

Spud's, Swanney's, Sick Boy's?

I don't know.

[ Continues Screaming ] 

Maybe Allison knew, maybe not. 

I wished I could think 

of something to say. 

Something sympathetic, 

something Human. 

 Sick Boy :

Say something, Mark.

[ Allison Crying ]

Sick Boy  [ Loudly ] :

Fucking say something, huh? 

 Crying Continues ] 

 

Renton (quietly) :

I'm cooking-up.

[ Crying Continues ] 

[ Crying ] 

[ Continues Crying ]

[ Whimpering, Crying ] 

Allison :

Cook us up a shot, Rent. 

I really need a hit. 

[ Renton Narrating ] 

And so she did. 

I could understand that. 

To take The Pain away. 

So I cooked up, and she got a hit. 

But only after Me. 

That went without saying. 

Well, at least we knew 

Who The Father was now. 

It wasn't just The Baby 

that died that day. 

Something inside Sick Boy 

was lost and never returned. 

It seemed he had no Theory 

with which to explain a moment 

like this, nor did I.

 Our only response was to 

keep on going and fuck everything. 

Pile misery upon misery. 

Heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it 

with a drop of bile. 

Then squirt it into a stinking, purulent 

vein and do it all over again. Keep on 

going, getting up, going out, robbing, 

stealing, fucking people over. 

Propelling ourselves with longing 

towards the day it would all go wrong. 

Because no matter how much you 

stash... or how much you steal, 

you never have enough. 

No matter how often you go out 

and rob and fuck people over... 

you always need to get up 

and do it all over again.