This fiction fragment inspired by Bud Neil's Lobey Dosser is currently unavailable.
It's being submitted to an Scottish publisher for a forthcoming collection.
More news will follow.
Rank Bajin leans in, confidential-like, and gies it tae Lobey straight. ‘Bud’s been deid mair that forty years. Ye’re a bit late for being doon in the mooth aboot that.’
‘How come I never kent?’
‘I thocht ye did.’
‘Well, I never.’
‘Yer memory’s nae what it wis.’
‘Ye mean I forgot? How could I forget a thing like that?’
‘Ye’re getting auld, man.’
‘Is that it? Maybe I should be in an institution.’
Bajin laughs, ‘Lobey, man, you are an institution.’
I remembered the old West. I think. When I grew up, Scotland was a land of cowboys. Every close had a child in buckskin high-tailin' it intae the sunset. Peechaw! Peechaw! Those were our six-guns. We fell from an imaginary horse, clutching our wounds. 'Tell Agnes…' Then it rained. Then teatime.
You can find out more about Lobey Dosser and Bud Neil here.