‘This is Glesca,’ Moira told her. ‘Any time you’re confused, take a wee minute to remind yourself of that inescapable fact: this is Glesca. We don’t do subtle, we don’t do nuanced, we don’t do conspiracy. We do pish-heid bampot bludgeoning his girlfriend to death in a fit of paranoid range induced by forty-eight hours straight on the batter. We do coked-up neds jumping on a guy’s heid outside a nightclub because he looked at them funny. We do drug-dealing gangster rockets shooting other drug-dealing gangster rockets as comeback for something almost identical a fortnight ago. We do bam-on-bam. We do tit-for-tat, score-settling, feuds, jealousy, petty revenge. We do cannaemisswhodunnit. When you hear hoofbeats on Sauchielhall Street, it’s gaunny be a horse, no’ a zebra, because?’
‘This is Glesca,’ she answered.
In case you were wondering:
(1) “Glesca” is how some people pronounce “Glasgow” in the native dialect. (The emphasis is on “native”.)
(2) The passage is taken from Chris Brookmyre‘s wonderful Where the Bodies are Buried, reviewed by me, here.