TRAINSPOTTING

Begbie: Did you bring the cards?
Sick Boy: What?
Begbie: The cards, the last thing I told you was to mind the cards!
Sick Boy: Well, I've not brought them.
Begbie: It's fucking boring after a while without the cards.
Sick Boy: I'm sorry.
Begbie: Bit fucking late, like.
Sick Boy: Why didn't *you* bring them?
Begbie: 'CAUSE I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO BRING THEM, YOU DOSS CUNT!
Sick Boy: ...Christ.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the post. That's for sure. I'm in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea. Pain and craving. A need like nothing else I've ever known will soon take hold of me. It's on its way.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Swanney taught us to adore and respect the national health service. For it was the source of much of our gear. We stole drugs. We stole prescriptions or bought them, sold them, swapped them, forged them, photocopied them. Or traded drugs with cancer victims, alcoholics, old-age pensioners, AIDS patients, epileptics, and bored housewives.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Thank you, your honor. With God's help I'll conquer this terrible affliction.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal!
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] I wished that I'd gone down instead of Spud. Here I was surrounded by my family and my so-called mates and I've never felt so alone. Never in all my puff. Since I was on remand, they've had me on this program, this state sponsored addiction. Three sickly sweet doses of methadone a day instead of smack. But it's never enough. And at the moment it's nowhere near enough. I took all three this morning and now I've got eighteen hours to go until my next shot. I've got sweat on my back like a layer of frost. I need to visit the Mother Superior for one hit. One final hit to get us over this long, hard day.
[to Swanney 'Mother Superior']
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: What's on the menu this evening, Sir?
Swanney: Your favorite dish.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Excellent.
Swanney: Your usual table, Sir.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Oh, why thank you.
Swanney: Would Sir care to pay for his bill in advance?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: No. Stick it on my tab.
Swanney: Ah, regret to inform, sir, credit limit was reached and breached quite some time ago.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Oh, well in that case...
[hands him some cash]
Swanney: Ah, hard currency. Thank you, Sir. Can't be too careful these days. Would Sir care for a starter of some garlic bread perhaps?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] Take the best orgasm you've ever had... multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it.
Allison: It beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in the world.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I fantasize about a massive pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel no.5, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I'll settle for anywhere.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: 1,000 years from now there will be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me.
Sick Boy: Say something Mark.
[shouting]
Sick Boy: Fucking say something, huh?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: I'm cooking up.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Never again, Swanney. I'm off the scag.
Swanney: Are you serious?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Yeah, no more. I'm finished with that shite.
Swanney: Well, it's up to you, man.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Gonna get it right this time. Gonna get it sorted out. Gonna get off it for good.
Swanney: I've heard that one before.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: The Sick Boy method?
Swanney: Well, it nearly worked for him, hey.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, he's always been lacking in moral fiber.
Swanney: He knows a lot about Sean Connery.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: That's hardly a substitute.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: The downside of coming off junk was I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of full consciousness. It was awful. They reminded me so much of myself, I could hardly bear to look at them.
[first lines]
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?