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320 pages, Paperback
First published July 5, 2007
My old man, your grandad, he used to say to me, 'If you like school you'll love work then live happily ever after.' She don't say nothing to that, just sort of rolls her eyes. I try to explain: � What I mean is that it's your start in life, so you gotta go in with the right attitude. You get out what you put in, don'tcha? She just shrugs and don't say nothing. And I suppose she's right to be a skeptic n all. The stuff about the old man, he said nothing of the kind, I just made that up. Churchillian-style motivational speech, that sort of thing. Reality was, the old boy didn't give a monkey's about what I got up to at school. Yeah, she's right, school was a load of bleedin bollocks.
I distrusted Phoenix, in much the same way as I did all them shabby sunbelt cities with their pop-up business districts, soulless suburban tracts, strip malls, used-car dealerships, and bad homes almost but not quite hidden by palm trees. And then you had the people drying out like old fruit in the sun, brains too fired by heat and routine to remember why they ever did come here in the first place. And that was just the poor. The wealthy folk you only saw under glass; in their malls and motor cars, breathing in the conditioned air that tasted like weak cough medicine. I was used to heat but this place was so dry the trees were bribing the dogs.
Darkness faws like a workin hoor's keks: sudden but yet predictable.
Ah still think ay masel as the King ay Fife, but ah'm a king in exile, voluntary exile, n ah'm in nae hurry tae git back. Ye kin caw it the Kingdom ay Fife if ye like; ah prefer tae cry it the Fiefdom ay King, ya hoor, sir!