Ain’t changed much, has it. Except the f
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British (Wiltshire) accent. Troy Whitworth is a dangerous man. He was born and
Ain’t changed much, has it. Except the faces. All except Ginger here. He was here when I was here. What happened, mate? Got lost? Can’t find your way home? (Laughs.) I tell you, Rooster, Frank and Danny was up here all last summer and they’d come home four, five in the morning, tell me all the stories. All the tales. Took me back, it done. ‘Nothing changes up there,’ I says. They told me this one. End of June, it was. They’re coming through here, seven in the evening, go see the Rooster, shake him awake. Get the fire going. Have a gasp. They’re coming over, guess what they find? Lying out, on the path. Down in the dirt, smashed out of his mind. Sparko. Bottle of own-brand, out fucking cold. Couldn’t even make it home. You’d pissed yourself. Pissed all over your trousers, your coat. And, you know what they done? They undone their flies and they pissed on you too. All overs you. On your face. In your hair. In your mouth. Took photos with their phones. Sent it to everyone. I bet Lee there’s got it on his phone. Pea. Tanya. I know Davey has. He filmed it. Show him, Davey. Show Rooster what you done. They told me all stories, Rooster. Took me right back. Nothing changes up here.
Butterworth, Jez. Jerusalem NHB Modern Plays, 2009.