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Trainspotting Movie Script

Writer(s) : Irvine Welsh, John Hodge

Genres : Drama

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                                Trainspotting

                                Screenplay by

                                 John Hodge

                            Based on the Novel by

                                Irvine Welsh

                                 Directed by

                                 Danny Boyle

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

EXT. STREET. DAY

Legs run along the pavement. They are Mark Renton's.

Just ahead of him is Spud. They are both belting along.

As they travel, various objects (pens, tapes, CDs, toiletries, ties,
sunglasses, etc.) either fall or are discarded from inside their jackets.

They are pursued by two hard-looking Store Detectives in identical uniforms.
The men are fast, but Renton and Spud maintain their lead.

                                   RENTON
                                (voice-over)

     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.

Suddenly, as Renton crosses a road, a car skids to a halt, inches from him.

In a moment of detachment he stops and looks at the shocked driver, then at
Spud, who has continued running, then at the Two Men, who are now closing in
on him.

He smiles.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT ROOM. DAY

In a bare, dingy room, Renton lies on the floor, alone, motionless and
drugged.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose
     fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose
     your friends.

EXT. FOOTBALL PITCH. NIGHT

On a flood lit five-a-side pitch, Renton and his friends are taking on
another team at football.

The opposition all wear an identical strip (Arsenal), whereas Renton and his
friends wear an odd assortment of gear.

Three girls -- Lizzy, Gail, and Allison and Baby -- stand by the side,
watching.

The boys are outclassed by the team with the strip but play much dirtier.

As each performs a characteristic bit of play, the play freezes and their
name is visible, printed or written on some item of clothing. (T-Shirt,
baseball cap, shorts, trainers). In Begbie's case, his name appears as a
tatoo on his arm.

Sick Boy commits a sneaky foul and indignantly denies it.

Begbie commits an obvious foul and make no effort to deny it.

Spud, in goal, lets the ball in between his legs.

Tommy kicks the ball as hard as he can.

Renton's litany continues over the action:

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece
     suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY
     and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on
     that couch watching mind-numbing sprit-crushing game shows,
     stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at
     the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing
     more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you
     have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.

Renton is hit straight in the face by the ball. He lies back on the
astroturf. Voice-over continues.

     But who would I want to do a thing like that?

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies on the floor.

Swanney, Allison and Baby, Sick Boy and Spud are shooting up or preparing to
shoot up. Sick Boy is talking to Allison as he taps up a vein on her arm.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the
     reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got
     heroin?

                                  SICK BOY

     Goldfinger's better than Dr. No. Both of them are a lot better
     than Diamonds are Forever a judgement reflected in its relative
     poor showing at the box office, in which field, of course,
     Thunderball was a notable success.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and
     all that shite, which is not to be ignored, but what they forget -

Spud is shooting up

     is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all,
     we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid.
     Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and
     you're still nowhere near it. When you're on junk you have only
     one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to
     worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can't get
     pished. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance
     of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about
     bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking
     winds, about human relationships and all the things that really
     don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit.

                                  SICK BOY

     I would say, in those days, he was a muscular actor, in every
     sense, with all the presence of someone like Cooper or Lancaster,
     but combined with a sly wit to make him a formidable romantic
     lead, closer in that respect to Cary Grant.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     The only drawback, or at least the principal drawback, is that you
     have to endure all manner of cunts telling you that -

INT. PUB I. NIGHT

Begbie, smoking and drinking, speaks to camera.

                                   BEGBIE

     No way would I poison my body with that shite, all they fucking
     chemicals, no fucking way.

INT. PUB I. NIGHT

Tommy sits beside Lizzy. He speaks to camera.

                                    TOMMY

     It's a waste of your life, Rents, poisoning your body with that
     shite.

INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, LIVING ROOM. NIGHT

Renton's father and mother sit at the table eating.

Renton is seated but not eating.

                                   FATHER

     Every chance you've ever had, you've blown it, stuffing your veins
     with that filth.

--------

INT. ELECTRICAL RETAILERS. DAY

Gav wears the corporate jacket.

                                     GAV

     Get off that stuff, Rents and get a job. It's not as bad as it
     looks. While you're here, you don't fancy buying a cooker, do you?

--------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Sick Boy and Spud lie drugged up. Allison and Baby wait while Swanney cooks
up.

Renton is standing up.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     From time to time, even I have uttered the magic words.

                                   SWANNEY

     Are you serious?

                                   RENTON

     Yeah. No more. I'm finished with that shite.

                                   SWANNEY

     Well, it's up to you.

                                   RENTON

     I'm going to get it right this time. Going to get it set up and
     get off it for good.

                                   SWANNEY

     Sure, sure. I've heard it before.

                                   RENTON

     The Sick Boy method.

They both look at Sick Boy

                                   SWANNEY

     Yeah, well, it surely worked for him.

                                   RENTON

     He's always been lacking in moral fibre.

                                   SWANNEY

     He knows a lot about Sean Connery.

                                   RENTON

     That's hardly a substitute.

                                   SWANNEY

     you'll need one more hit.

                                   RENTON

     No, I don't think so.

                                   SWANNEY

     To see you through the night that lies ahead.

Freeze Frame on Swanney.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     We called him the mother superior on account of the length of his
     habit. He knew all about it. On it, off it, he knew it all. Of
     course I'd have another shot: after all, I had work to do.

INT. RENTON'S FLAT ROOM. DAY

The door opens and Renton enters carrying shopping bags. He empties them on
to a mattress beside three buckets and a television.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Relinquishing junk. Stage One: preparation. For this you will
     need: one room which you will not leave; one mattress; tomato
     soup, ten tins of; mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption
     cold; ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of; Magnesia, Milk of, one
     bottle; paracetamol; mouth wash; vitamins; mineral water;
     Lucozade; pornography; one bucket for urine, one for feces, and
     one for vomitus; one television; and one bottle of Valium, which I
     have already procured, from my mother, who is, in her own domestic
     and socially acceptable way, also a drug addict.

Renton swallows several Valium tablets. Voice-over continues.

     And now I'm ready. All I need is a final hit to soothe the pain
     while the Valium takes effect.

--------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Swanney, Sick Boy, Spud and Allison and Baby all lie inert while the
telephone rings.

--------

INT. CALL BOX. DAY

Renton curses as he slams down the receiver. He dials again.

                                   RENTON

     Mikey. It's Mark Renton. Can you help me out?

INT. MIKEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton holds two opium suppositories in the palm of his hand.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     This was typical of Mikey Forrester.

                                 (on screen)

     What the fuck are these?

                                    (v.o)

     Under the normal run of things I would have had nothing to do with
     the cunt, but this was not the normal run of things.

                                    MIKEY

     Opium suppositories. Ideal for your purpose. Slow release, like.
     Bring you down gradually. Custom fucking designed for your needs.

                                   RENTON

     I want a fucking hit.

                                    MIKEY

     That's all I've got: take it or leave it.

Renton sticks his hand down the back of his trousers and sticks the
suppositories into his rectum.

     Feel better now?

                                   RENTON

     For all the good they've done me I might as well have stuck them
     up my arse.

He smiles.

EXT. STREET. DAY

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Heroin makes you constipated. The heroin from my last hit is
     fading away and the suppositories have yet to melt. I am no longer
     constipated.

He looks around the local amenities. He is in discomfort, clutching his
abdomen and falling to his knees.

He notices a betting shop.

INT. BETTING SHOP. DAY

Renton walks through the crowded, smoky betting shop towards a door marked
'toilet' with a bit of card.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I fantasize about massive pristine convenience.

He stumbles through.

                                    (v.o)

     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.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET. DAY

This is the most horrible toilet in Britain.

Alone, Renton makes his way through the horrors to a cubicle.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE. DAY

Renton locks the door.

He looks into the bowl and winces with disgust, even in his state.

He pulls the chain. The chain comes off.

He drops his trousers, sits on the bowl and closes his eyes.

--------

MONTAGE

A lorry on a building site dumps a load of bricks, B52's shed their load on
Vietnam, the Blue Peter elephant, etc.

--------

INT. CUBICLE. DAY

Renton has his eyes closed. They snap open.

He looks down between his legs.

He drops to his knees in front of the bowl and rolls his sleeve up.

With no more hesitation he plunges his arm into the bowl and trawls for the
suppositories.

It seems to take ages. He cannot find them. He sticks his arm further and
further into the toilet, moving his whole body close. He strains to find it.

His head is over the bowl now. Gradually he reaches still further until his
head is lowered into the bowl, followed by his neck, torso, other arm, and
finally his legs, all disappearing.

The cubicle is empty.

INT. UNDER WATER. DAY

Renton, dressed as before, swims through murky depths until he reaches the
bottom, where he picks up the suppositories, which glow like luminous
pearls, before heading up towards the surface again.

INT. HORRIBLE TOILET CUBICLE. DAY

The toilet is empty.

Suddenly Renton appears through the bowl, then his arms as he lifts himself
out. Still clasping his two suppositories, he walks out of the toilet.

INT. RENTON'S ROOM. DAY

The mattress, buckets and supplies are laid out as before.

The door opens and Renton enters, still soaking and dripping.

The suppositories are in his hand. He holds them up, and they twinkle in the
light.

                                   RENTON

     Now. Now I'm ready.

INT. RENTON'S ROOM. DAY

The cans of soup, the bottle of water, and the carton of ice cream are
empty, the bottle of pills spilt, the magazines well thumbed.

--------

                                  SICK BOY

     You Only Live Twice?

                                   RENTON

     Nineteen-sixty-seven.

                                  SICK BOY

     Running time?

                                   RENTON

     One hundred and sixteen minutes.

                                  SICK BOY

     Director?

                                   RENTON

     Lewis Gilbert.

                                  SICK BOY

     Screenwriter?

                                   RENTON

     Eh - Ian Fleming?

                                  SICK BOY

     Fuck off! He never wrote any of them.

                                   RENTON

     OK, so who was it, then?

                                  SICK BOY

     You can look it up.

Sick Boy throws across a worn copy of a film guide.

Renton cannot be bothered to pick it up.

     How are you feeling since you came off the skag? For myself, I'm
     bored.

                                   RENTON

     Who wrote it?

                                  SICK BOY

     But you're looking better, it has to be said. Healthier. Radiant
     even.

                                   RENTON

     You don't know, do you?

                                  SICK BOY

     And I wondered if you'd care to go to the park tomorrow.

                                   RENTON

     The park?

                                  SICK BOY

     Tomorrow afternoon. Usual set-up.

                                   RENTON

     Who wrote it?

                                  SICK BOY

     Roald Dahl.

                                   RENTON

     Roald Dahl. Fuck me.

--------

EXT. PARK. DAY

Typical weather, neither good nor bad. The park is nondescript arid green
with a few bushes. This is not Kew Gardens. Renton and Sick Boy appear,
dressed as before but for the addition of cheap sunglasses.

Renton is carrying a battered old cassette player and a carry-out in a
plastic bag.

Sick Boy is carrying a small, tatty suitcase from Oxfam.

They scan the horizon and give each other the nod. They walk towards the
bushes.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     The down side of coming off junk was that 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. Take Sick Boy, for instance, he came off junk at the
     same time as me, not because he wanted too, you understand, but
     just to annoy me, just to show me how easily he could do it,
     thereby downgrading my own struggle. Sneaky fucker, don't you
     think? And when all I wanted to do was lie along and feel sorry
     for myself, he insisted on telling me once again about his
     unifying theory of life.

EXT. PARK. DAY

Seen through the telescopic sight of an air rifle that wanders over various
potential targets (children, pensioners, couples, gardeners, etc.).

                                  SICK BOY

     It's certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life.

                                   RENTON

     What do you mean?

                                  SICK BOY

     Well, at one time, you've got it, and then you lose it, and it's
     gone for ever. All walks of life: George Best, for example, had it
     and lost it, or David Bowie, or Lou Reed -

                                   RENTON

     Some of his solo stuff's not bad.

                                  SICK BOY

     No, it's not bad, but it's not great either, is it? And in your
     heart you kind of know that although it sounds all right, it's
     actually just shite.

                                   RENTON

     So who else?

                                  SICK BOY

     Charlie Nicholas, David Niven, Malcolm McLaren, Elvis Presley. -

                                   RENTON

     OK, OK, so what's the point you're trying to make?

EXT. PARK. DAY

Sick Boy rests the gun down.

                                  SICK BOY

     All I'm trying to do is help you understand that The Name of the
     Rose is merely a blip on an otherwise uninterrupted downward
     trajectory.

                                   RENTON

     What about The Untouchables?

                                  SICK BOY

     I don't rate that at all.

                                   RENTON

     Despite the Academy award?

                                  SICK BOY

     That means fuck all. The sympathy vote.

                                   RENTON
Right. So we all get old and then we can't hack it any more. Is that it?
                                  SICK BOY

     Yeah.

                                   RENTON

     That's your theory?

                                  SICK BOY

     Yeah, Beautifully fucking illustrated.

                                   RENTON

     Give me the gun.

EXT. PARK. DAY Through the sight again. This time a Skinhead and his
muscle-bound dog are in view.

Sick Boy and Renton talk like Sean Connery.

                                  SICK BOY

     Do you see the beast? Have you got it in you sights?

                                   RENTON

     Clear enough, Moneypenny. This should present no significant
     problem.

The gun fires and the dog yelps, jumps up and bites its owner (the
Skinhead).

                                  SICK BOY

     For a vegetarian, Rents, you're a fucking evil shot.

EXT. PARK. DAY

Renton loads up again.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Without heroin, I attempted to lead a useful and fulfilling life
     as a good citizen.

INT. CAF´┐Ż. DAY

Two milkshakes clink together.

Renton and Spud and seated at a booth, dressed in their own fashion for job
interviews.

                                   RENTON

     Good luck, Spud.

                                    SPUD

     Cheers.

                                   RENTON

     Now remember --

                                    SPUD

     Yeah.

                                   RENTON

     If they think you're not trying, you're in trouble. First hint of
     that, they'll be on to the DSS, 'This cunt's no trying' and your
     Giro is fucking finished, right?

                                    SPUD

     Right.

                                   RENTON

     But try too hard --

                                    SPUD

     And you might get the fucking job.

                                   RENTON

     Exactly.

                                    SPUD

     Nightmare.

                                   RENTON

     It's a tightrope, Spud, a fucking tightrope.

                                    SPUD

     My problem is that I tend to clam up. I go dumb and I can't answer
     any questions at all. Nerves on the big occasion, like a
     footballer.

                                   RENTON

     Try this.

Renton unfolds silver foil to reveal some amphetamine. Spud dips in a finger
and takes a dab. He nods in appreciation as he tastes it. Renton leaves the
packet in Spud's hand.

                                    SPUD

     A little dab of speed is just the ticket.

--------

INT. INTERVIEW OFFICE. DAY

A Woman and Two Men (1 and 2) are interviewing Renton. His job application
form is on the desk in front of them.

                                    MAN 1

     Well, Mr. Renton, I see that you attended the Royal Edinburgh
     College.

                                   RENTON

     Indeed, yes, those halcyon days.

                                    MAN 1

     One of Edinburgh's finest schools.

                                   RENTON

     Oh, yes, indeed. I look back on my time there with great fondness
     and affection. The debating society, the first eleven, the soft
     know of willow on leather --

                                    MAN 1

     I'm an old boy myself, you know?

                                   RENTON

     Oh, really?

                                    MAN 1

     Do you recall the school motto?

                                   RENTON

     Of course, the motto, the motto --

                                    MAN 1

     Strive, hope, believe and conquer.

                                   RENTON

     Exactly. Those very words have been my guiding light in what is,
     after all, a dark and often hostile world.

Renton looks pious under scrutiny.

                                    MAN 2

     Mr. Renton --

                                   RENTON

     Yes.

                                    MAN 2

     You seem eminently suited to this post but I wonder if you could
     explain the gaps in your employment record?

                                   RENTON

     Yes, I can. The truth -- well, the truth is that I've had a
     long-standing problem with heroin addiction. I've been know to
     sniff it, smoke it, swallow it, stick it up my arse and inject it
     into my veins. I've been trying to combat this addiction, but
     unless you count social security scams and shoplifting, I haven't
     had a regular job in years. I feel it's important to mention this.

There is silence.

A paper clip crashes to the floor.

--------

INT. OFFICE. DAY

The same office. The same team are interviewing Spud.

                                    SPUD

     No, actually I went to Craignewton but I was worried that you
     wouldn't have heard of it so I put the Royal Edinburgh College
     instead, because they're both schools, right, and we're all in
     this together, and I wanted to put across the general idea rather
     than the details, yeah? People get all hung up on details, but
     what's the point? Like which school? Does it matter? Why? When?
     Where? Or how many O grades did I get? Could be six, could be one,
     but that's not important. What's important is that I am, right?
     That I am.

                                    MAN 1

     Mr. Murphy, do you mean that you lied on your application?

                                    SPUD

     Only to get my foot in the door. Showing initiative, right?

                                    MAN 1

     You were referred here by the Department of Employment. There's no
     need for you to get you "foot in the door", as you put it.

                                    SPUD

     Hey. Right. No problem. Whatever you say, man. You're the man, the
     governor, the dude in the chair, like. I'm merely here. But
     obviously I am. Here, that is. I hope I'm not talking too much. I
     don't usually. I think it's all important though, isn't it?

                                    MAN 2

     Mr. Murphy, what attracts you to the leisure industry?

                                    SPUD

     In a word, pleasure. My pleasure in other people's leisure.

---------

                                    WOMAN

     What do you see as your main strengths?

                                    SPUD

     I love people. All people. Even people that no one else loves, I
     think they're OK, you know. Like Beggars.

                                    WOMAN

     Homeless people?

                                    SPUD

     No, not homeless people. Beggars, Francis Begbie -- one of my
     mates. I wouldn't say my best mate, I mean, sometimes the boy goes
     over the score, like one time when we -- me and him -- were having
     a laugh and all of a sudden he's fucking gubbed me in the face,
     right --

---------

                                    WOMAN

     Mr. Murphy, {leaving your friend aside,} do you see yourself as
     having any weaknesses?

                                    SPUD

     No. Well, yes. I have to admit it: I'm a perfectionist. For me,
     it's the best or nothing at all. If things go badly, I can't be
     bothered, but I have a good feeling about this interview. Seems to
     me like it's gone pretty well. We've touched on a lot of subjects,
     a lot of things to think about, for all of us.

                                    MAN 1

     Thank you, Mr. Murphy. We'll let you know.

                                    SPUD

     The pleasure was mine. Best interview I've ever been to. Thanks.

Spud crosses the room to shake everyone by the hand and kiss them.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Spud had done well. I was proud of him. He fucked up good and
     proper.

--------

INT. PUB 1. DAY

Renton and Spud meet up after the interviews.

                                    SPUD

     A little too well, if anything, a little too well, that's my only
     fear, compadre.

                                   RENTON

     Another dab?

                                    SPUD

     Would not say no, would not say no.

INT. OFFICE. DAY

The Woman and Two Men sit in silence.

--------

INT. PUB 2. NIGHT

It is Saturday night in a busy, city-centre pub on two levels. On a large
upper balcony, overlooking the bar and floor downstairs, sit Spud, Gail,
Renton, Sick Boy, Tommy, Lizzy and Begbie.

Begbie's story overlaps with the subsequent depiction of the incident.

                                   BEGBIE
                                    (v.o)

     Picture the scene. Wednesday morning in the Volley. Me and Tommy
     are playing pool. No problems, and I'm playing like Paul fucking
     Newman by the way. I'm giving the boy here the tanning of a
     lifetime. So anyway, it comes to the final ball, the deciding shot
     of the tournament: I'm on the black and he's sitting in the
     corner, looking all biscuit-arsed. Then this hard cunt comes in.
     Obviously fancied himself. Starts looking at me. Right fucking at
     me. Trying to put off, like, just for kicks. Looking at me as if
     to say, 'Come ahead, square go.' Well, you know me, I'm no looking
     for trouble but at the end of the day I'm the cunt with the pool
     cue and I'm game for a swedge. So I squared up, casual like. So
     what does the hard cunt do, or so-called hard cunt? Shites it.
     Puts down his drink, turns around and gets the fuck out of there.
     And after that, the game was mine.

INT. POOL HALL. DAY

The events in the pool hall, as described by Begbie.

Begbie and Tommy are playing pool.

Begbie is playing like a wizard.

Tommy looks defeated.

Lining up for the final ball, Begbie is distracted by a large Hard Man
standing at the bar staring at him.

Begbie stands up and walks slowly towards the Hard Man.

They stand, eye to eye, for a moment.

Begbie swings the pool cue slowly into his palm.

The Hard Man turns and leaves.

Begbie drinks the Hard Man's pint, then pots the black with a brilliant
shot.

INT. PUB 2. DAY

Begbie, his story complete, finishes his pint. The others continue to stare
at him, frozen as though expecting something more. Begbie smiles and throws
the pint over his head.

Freeze-frame: the glass in mid-air and Begbie's smiling face.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     And that was it. That was Begbie's story. Or at least that was
     Begbie's version of the story. But a couple of days later I got
     the truth from Tommy. It was one of his major weaknesses: he never
     told lies, never took drugs, and never cheated on anyone.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton's hand flicks through a long row of videos on the floor while the
sound of weights being lifted (by Tommy) emanates from nearby.

Most of the videos are feature films or comedy shows, some with titles
written in Tommy's hand, but two catch Renton's attention.

They are 100 Great Goals and Tommy and Lizzy Vol. 1, the latter a
handwritten title.

Renton looks from the video round to Tommy, who is engrossed in lifting
weights.

                                    TOMMY

     Well, sure it was Wednesday morning, we were in the Volley playing
     pool, that much is true.

INT. POOL HALL. DAY

Tommy's account over a depiction of his version.

                                    TOMMY
                                    (v.o)

     But Begbie is playing absolutely fucking gash. He's got a hangover
     so bad he can hardly hold the fucking cue, never mind pot the
     ball. I'm doing my best to lose, trying to humour him, like, but
     it's not doing any good: every time I touch the ball I pot
     something, every time Begbie goes near the table he fucks it up.
     So he's got the hump, right, but finally I manage to set it up so
     all he's go to do is pot the black to win one game and salvage a
     little pride and maybe not kick my head in, right. So he's on the
     black, pressure shot, and it all goes wrong, big time. What does
     he do? Picks on this specky wee gadge at the bar and accuses him
     of putting him off by looking at him. Can you believe it? I mean,
     the poor cunt hasn't even glanced in our direction. He's sitting
     there quiet as a mouse when Beggars gubs him with the cue. He was
     going to chib him, I tell you, then I thought he was going to do
     me. The Beggar is fucking psycho, but he's a mate, you know, so
     what can you do?

The events are as follows:

Begbie and Tommy are playing pool.

Begbie, furious, miscues, goes in off, etc.

Tommy deliberately misses sitters and tries to look annoyed.

Begbie lines up to play the black. It is unmissable.

At the bar beyond sits a harmless young Man, wearing the same clothes as the
Hard Man in Begbie's account except that they are now baggy rather than
taut. He is clearly not staring at Begbie but drinks a half-pint and eats
some crisps.

As Begbie plays, the Man bites a crisp.

Begbie miscues, rips the cloth and the ball flies off the table.

Tommy catches it and looks up to see Begbie assaulting the young Man.

Tommy cautiously restrains Begbie and he reaches into his jacket for a
knife.

Begbie turns and for a moment looks as though he might attack Tommy.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY

Tommy puts down his weights.

Renton holds up 100 Great Goals.

                                   RENTON

     Can I borrow this one?

INT. PUB 2. NIGHT

The freeze-frame of the glass in mid-air and Begbie's smiling face.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but it's true, he's a mate as well, so
     what can you do? Just stand back and watch and try not to get
     involved. Begbie didn't do drugs either, he just did people. That
     what he got off on: his own sensory addiction.

The glass falls into the crowd.

Screaming starts. A Woman is bleeding from a wound in her head. The Men
beside her turn furiously around to look for the source of the glass.

Up on the balcony, Begbie stands up. The screams and shouting continue
below.

Begbie appears at the bottom of the staircase down from the balcony.

He strides towards the bleeding Woman and begins shouting.

                                   BEGBIE

     All right. Nobody move. The girl got glassed and no cunt leaves
     here until we find out which cunt did it.

A man stands up from one of the tables.

                                     MAN

     And who the fuck do you think you are?

Begbie kick the Man in the groin. Another moves towards him but is blocked
by the Men surrounding the girl. Soon the whole mass dissolves into a brutal
scrum, in which Begbie plays a prominent part.

Up on the balcony, the rest of the gang watch in silence.

INT. RENTON'S FLAT. DAY

The empty cover for 100 Great Goals lies on the floor.

Sick Boy and Renton sit dispassionately watching Tommy and Lizzy in their
home-made soft-porn video.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     And as I sat watching the intimate and highly personal video,
     stolen only hours earlier from one of my best friends, I realized
     that something important was missing from my life.

INT. CLUB. NIGHT

A mass of dancing bodies fills the floor. The music is very loud.

At the side of the dance floor sit Tommy and Spud. The look rather gloomy.
There is an empty seat beside each of them. Spud is drinking heavily.

Tommy turns and speaks to Spud. His lips move but nothing is audible. Spud
is not ever aware that Tommy has spoken.

Tommy bellows in Spud's ear.

Tommy's words and all subsequent conversation in the dance area of the club
appear as subtitles, the character's communications somewhere between speech
and mime.

                                    TOMMY

     How's it going with Gail?

                                    SPUD

     No joy yet.

                                    TOMMY

     How long is it?

                                    SPUD

     Six weeks.

                                    TOMMY

     Six weeks!

                                    SPUD

     It's a nightmare. She told me she didn't want our relationship to
     start on a physical basis as that is how it would be principally
     defined from then on in.

                                    TOMMY

     Where did she come up with that?

                                    SPUD

     She read it in Cosmopolitan.

                                    TOMMY

     Six weeks and no sex?

                                    SPUD

     I've got balls like watermelons, I'm telling you.

INT. NIGHTCLUB, WOMEN'S TOILET. NIGHT

Gail and Lizzy are smoking and talking.

                                    GAIL

     I read it in Cosmopolitan.

                                    LIZZY

     It's an interesting theory.

                                    GAIL

     Actually it's a nightmare. I've been desperate for a shag, but
     watching him suffer was just too much fun. You should try it with
     Tommy.

                                    LIZZY

     What, and deny myself the only pleasure I get from him? Did I tell
     you about my birthday?

                                    GAIL

     What happened?

                                    LIZZY

     He forgot. Useless motherfucker.

INT. NIGHTCLUB. DANCE AREA. NIGHT

Tommy and Spud seated as before. Their words are subtitled.

As they are speaking Gail and Lizzy return and sit down.

                                    TOMMY

     Useless motherfucker, that's what she called me. I told her, I'm
     sorry, but theses things happen. Let's put it behind us.

                                    SPUD

     That's fair enough.

                                    TOMMY

     Yes, but then she finds out I've bought a ticket for Iggy Pop the
     same night.

                                    SPUD

     Went ballistic?

                                    TOMMY

     Big time. Absolutely fucking radge. 'It's me or Iggy Pop, time to
     decide.'

                                    SPUD

     So what's it going to be?

                                    TOMMY

     Well, I've paid for the ticket.

                               GAIL AND LIZZY

     What are you two talking about?

                               TOMMY AND SPUID

     Football. What were you talking about?

                               GAIL and LIZZY

     Shopping

Standing nearby but apart from them is Renton.

Renton notes Spud and Tommy with their partners, and across the other side
Sick Boy and Begbie are engaged in flirtatious conversation with Two Women.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     The situation was becoming serious. Young Renton noticed the haste
     with which the successful, in the sexual sphere as in all others,
     egregated themselves from the failures.

Begbie and Sick Boy with the Two Women.

Renton standing among a group of lone nerds.

Renton wades on to the dance floor, looking at countless women, all whom
either turn away or are spoken for.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Heroin had robbed Renton of his sex drive, but now it returned
     with a vengeance. And as the impotence of those days faded into
     memory, grim desperation took hold in his sex-crazed mind. His
     post-junk libido, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamine, taunted him
     remorselessly with his own unsatisfied desire dot.

Renton notices one girl (Diane) walking on her own towards the door.

A Man carrying two drinks catches up with her and walks backwards, talking
to her.

She says nothing. He blocks her way.

She takes one drink and downs it, then the other, handing him back the empty
glasses. She steps past him and walks on towards the door.

                                    (v.o)

     And with that, Mark Renton had fallen in love.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT

The Girl walks away from the club, scanning the street for a taxi, and hail
one which stops just as Renton calls out.

                                   RENTON

     Excuse me, I don't mean to harass you, but I was very impressed by
     the capable and stylish manner in which you dealt with that
     situation. I thought to myself: she's special.

                                    DIANE

     Thanks.

                                   RENTON

     What's your name?

                                    DIANE

     Diane.

                                   RENTON

     Where are you going, Diane?

                                    DIANE

     I'm going home.

                                   RENTON

     Where's that?

                                    DIANE

     It's where I live.

                                   RENTON

     Great.

                                    DIANE

     What?

                                   RENTON

     I'll come back if you like, but I'm not promising anything.

Diane halts abruptly as a taxi pulls up.

                                    DIANE

     Do you find that this approach usually works, or, let me guess,
     you've never tried it before. In fact, you don't normally approach
     girls, am I right? The truth is that you're a quite, sensitive
     type but if I'm prepared to take a chance I might just get to know
     the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal, a
     little bit crazy, a little bit bad, but, hey, don't us girls just
     love that?

                                   RENTON

     Eh-

                                    DIANE

     Well, what's wrong, boy? Cat got your tongue.

                                   RENTON

     I think I left something back at the -

The girl has disappeared into the back of the taxi.

Renton looks around.

                                 TAXI DRIVER

     Are you getting in or not, pal?

EXT. ROAD. NIGHT

The taxi motors along.

INT. TAXI. NIGHT

Renton and Diane are kissing passionately in the back.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT

Spud is pushed against the wall held by his lapels. He drinks from a bottle
of beer in one hand.

                                    GAIL

     Do you understand?

Spud nods drunkenly.

Gail releases her grip.

     Our relationship is not being redefined; it is developing in an
     appropriate, organic fashion. I expect you to be a considerate and
     thoughtful lover, generous but firm. Failure on your part to live
     up to these very reasonable expectations will result in swift
     resumption of a non-sex situation. Right?

Spud drinks from a bottle in the other hand and says nothing but he does not
look too happy.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

Tommy and Lizzy kiss while Tommy unlocks the door.

INT. DIANE'S HOME, HALLWAY. NIGHT

In a darkened suburban hallway, the door opens and two figures enter.

                                   RENTON

     Diane.

                                    DIANE

     Ssshh!

                                   RENTON

     Sorry.

                                    DIANE

     Shut up.

They walk through another door and close it behind them.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

Tommy and Lizzy kiss against the inside of th door, taking their outer
clothes off.

INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

By a pale bedside light, Diane and Renton undress.

INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

Spud is lying unconscious on the bed. Gail stands over him.

                                    GAIL

     Wake up, Spud, wake up. Sex.

She kicks him. He moans.

     Casual sex.

She kicks him again. He moans again.

     You useless bastards. So, let's see what I'm missing.

She begins undressing him.

INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

Renton lies on his back while Diane rides above him.

INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

Gail throws Spud's clothes to the floor and throws a blanket over him.

                                    GAIL

     Not much.

She switches out the light.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

Tommy and Lizzy now lie on the bed in a state of semi-undress.

                                    LIZZY

     Tommy, let's put the tape on.

                                    TOMMY

     Now?

                                    LIZZY

     Yes, I want to watch ourselves while we're screwing.

                                    TOMMY

     Fuck, OK.

Tommy gets up and reaches into the row of videos on the floor. He lifts out
Tommy and LIzzy, Vol. 1 and hastily shoves it into the video.

Tommy sits back on the bed with the remote control and presses 'play' as
Lizzy kisses him.

His face registers consternation.

On the television, Archie Gemmill scores his famous goal against Holland in
1978.

INT. DIANE'S BEDROOM. NIGHT

Renton and Diane climax together.

Diane immediately climbs off and wraps herself in a robe.

                                   RENTON

     Christ, I haven't felt that good since Archie Gemmill scored
     against Holland in 1978.

                                    DIANE

     Right. You can't sleep here.

                                   RENTON

     What?

                                    DIANE

     Out.

                                   RENTON

     Come on.

                                    DIANE

     No argument. You can sleep on the sofa in the living room, or go
     home. It's up to you.

                                   RENTON

     Jesus.

                                    DIANE

     And don't make any noise.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

The lights are full on now. Lizzy sits on the bed clutching a blanket around
herself.

Tommy hops around in his underwear, searching desperately.

All the videos are opened and scattered everywhere.
                                    LIZZY

     What do you mean, it's 'gone'? Where has it gone, Tommy?

                                    TOMMY

     It'll be here somewhere. I might have returned it by mistake.

                                    LIZZY

     Returned it? Where? To the video shop, Tommy? To the fucking video
     store? So every punter in Edinburgh is jerking off to our video?
     God, Tommy, I feel sick.

INT. DIANE'S HOME, LIVING-ROOM. MORNING

Renton lies submerged under a blanket.

The sounds of a normal morning travel from a room nearby: whistles, radio,
voices.

Renton peeps over the edge of the blanket, then covers his head again.

INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM. MORNING

Spud opens his eyes. With his fingers, he feels crusted liquid around his
mouth.

Abruptly he turns around: the bed is soaked in vomit.

He looks under the cover and drops it again in revulsion.

INT. DIANE'S HOME, LIVING-ROOM. DAY

Renton pulls himself up off the sofa and dresses as quickly as possible.

INT. GAIL'S BEDROOM. DAY

Spud wipes the vomit from his chest with a pillowcase, which he dumps in the
middle of the sheets before gathering the whole lot up as a bundle.

INT. DIANE'S HOME, HALL/KITCHEN. DAY

The door swings open. A Man and a Woman, about Renton's age, sit at the
kitchen table. They look up to see Renton in the doorway.
                                     MAN

     Good Morning.

                                    WOMAN

     Come in and sit down. You must be Mark.

Renton walks to the table and sits down.
                                   RENTON

     Yes, that's me.

                                    WOMAN

     You're a friend of Diane's?

                                   RENTON

     More of a friend of a friend, really.

                                     MAN

     Right.

                                   RENTON

     Are you her flatmates?

The couple exchange a look and laugh.
                                    WOMAN

     Flatmates. I must remember that one.

The Man and Woman look beyond Renton. He too turns and follows their gaze.

Diane stands in the doorway.

She is wearing school uniform.

INT. GAIL'S HOME, HALL/KITCHEN. DAY

The door swings open to reveal the kitchen. Gail, her Father, and Mother are
seated around the table, eating breakfast. They look towards Spud, who
carries the knotted bundle of sheets as he approaches the table.
                                    GAIL

     Good morning, Spud.

                                    SPUD

     Morning, Gail. Morning, Mrs. Houston, Mr. Houston.

                                   MOTHER

     Morning, Spud. Sit down and have some breakfast.

                                    SPUD

     Sorry about last night -

                                    GAIL

     It's all right. I slept fine on the sofa.

                                    SPUD

     I had a little too much to drink. I'm afraid I had a slight
     accident.

                                   FATHER

     Oh, don't worry, these things happen. It does everyone good to cut
     loose once in a while.

                                    GAIL

     This one could do with being tied up once in a while.

                                   MOTHER

     I'll put the sheets in the washing machine just now.

                                    SPUD

     No, I'll wash them. I'll take them home and bring them back.

                                   MOTHER

     There's no need.

                                    SPUD

     It's no problem.

                                   MOTHER

     No problem for me either.

                                   MOTHER

     Honestly, it's no problem.

                                    SPUD

     I'd really rather take care of it myself.

                                   MOTHER

     Spud, they're my sheets.

She takes hold of the bundle.

Spud does not yield.

She pulls harder. Spud holds on. She tugs powerfully.

The bundle bursts open with an explosion of vomit and excrement that covers
everything in the kitchen.

Only Spud remains untouched.

---------

                                    SPUD
I guess this means I'll never get to have sex with Gail.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY

Tommy sits alone, watching

100 Great Goals

---------

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton paces briskly down the street, followed by Diane.
                                    DIANE
I don't see why not.

                                   RENTON

     Because it's illegal.

                                    DIANE

     Holding hands?

                                   RENTON

     No, not holding hands.

                                    DIANE

     In that case you can do it. You were quite happy to do a lot more
     last night.

                                   RENTON

     And that's what's illegal. Do you know what they do to people like
     me inside? They'd cut my balls off and flush them down the fucking
     toilet.

They stop at the school gates.
                                    DIANE

     Calm down. You're not going to jail.

                                   RENTON

     Easy for you to say.

                                    DIANE

     Can I see you again?

                                   RENTON

     Certainly not.

Renton walks away.
                                    DIANE

     If you don't see me again I'll tell the police.

Renton turns and walks back to her. They stand for a moment, then Renton
walks away again. Diane smiles.
                                (to herself)

     I'll see you around then.

EXT. VIDEO STORE. DAY

In the cold light of morning, Tommy and Lizzy wait, not speaking, outside
the still-closed video store.

---------

EXT. RAIL BRIDGE. DAY

A train speeds across.

INT. TRAIN. DAY

Sick Boy, Tommy, Spud and Renton sit drinking from an extensive carry-out.
                                  SICK BOY

     This had better be good.

                                    TOMMY

     It will be. It'll make a change for three miserable junkies who
     don't know what they want to do with themselves since they stopped
     doing smack.

                                  SICK BOY

     If I'm giving up a whole day and the price of a ticket, I'm just
     saying it had better be good. There's plenty of other things I
     could be doing.

                                    TOMMY

     Such as?

                                  SICK BOY

     Such as sitting in a darkened room, watching videos, drinking,
     smoking dope and wanking. Does that answer your question?

They sit in silence.

---------

EXT. STATION. DAY

The station is in the middle of a moor. There appears to be no habitation
around. In the distance are some hills.

The train stands at the station.

As it pulls away, Renton, Spud, Tommy and Sick Boy are left standing on the
platform, looking around.
                                  SICK BOY

     Now what?

                                    TOMMY

     We go for a walk.

                                    SPUD

     What?

                                    TOMMY

     A walk.

                                    SPUD

     But where?

Tommy points vaguely across the moor.
                                    TOMMY

     There.

                                  SICK BOY

     Are you serious?

They step across the tracks toward the vast moorland. They stop.
All but Tommy sit down on rocks or clumps of heather.
                                    TOMMY

     Well, what are you waiting for?

                                    SPUD

     I don't know, Tommy. I don't know if it's... normal.

A group of three serious Walkers trudge past from the other end of the
platform, decked out in regulation Berghaus from head to foot. They tramp
off towards the wilderness. The boys watch them go.
Spud opens a can.
                                    TOMMY

     It's the great outdoors.

                                  SICK BOY

     It's really nice, Tommy. Can we go home now?

                                    TOMMY

     It's fresh air.

                                  SICK BOY

     Look, Tommy, we know you're getting a hard time off Lizzy, but
     there's no need to take it out on us.

                                    TOMMY

     Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?

                                   RENTON

     I hate being Scottish. We're the lowest of the fucking low, the
     scum of the earth, the most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic
     trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the
     English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand,
     are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to
     be colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite
     state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make
     any fucking difference.

The three serious Walkers are receding into the distance.
The boys troop back towards the platform.
                                    (v.o)
At or around this time, we made a healthy, informed, democratic decision to
get

     back on drugs as soon as possible. It took about twelve hours.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton hands over money to Swanney.
Renton then begins cooking up.
Also present and cooking or shooting up are Spud, Swanney, Allison and Baby,
and Sick Boy.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     It looks easy, this, but it's not. It looks like a doss, like a
     soft option, but living like this, it's a full-time business.

He injects.

---------

INT. SHOP. DAY

Renton, Spud, and Sick Boy are stuffing objects into their shirts and
pockets.

---------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies back, narcotized.

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton and Spud are running along the street.
Two uniformed Store Detectives are running after them.
Sick Boy stands in a doorway. As the Detectives run past, he strolls away in
the opposite direction.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies back as before.
                                  SICK BOY

     Ursula Andress was the quintessential Bond girl. That's what
     everyone says. The embodiment of his superiority to us: beautiful,
     exotic, highly sexual and yet unavailable to everyone but him.
     Shite. Let's face it: if she'd shag one punter from Edinburgh,
     she'd shag the fucking lot of us.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. LATER

Spud cooks up, watched by Swanney.
Nearby lie the drugged forms of Renton, Sick Boy and Allison and Baby.

INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, LIVING-ROOM. NIGHT

Renton's Mother and Father sit reading the paper and a magazine.

INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, PARENTS' BEDROOM. NIGHT

Renton trawls through drawers and any containers (shoe boxes, make-up boxes,
under the mattress, etc.) until he finds some cash/jewelry.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies back, staring vacantly ahead.
Tommy flops down beside him. Renton shows barely a flicker of awareness.
                                    TOMMY

     Lizzy's gone, Mark, she's gone and fucking dumped me. It was the
     video tape and that Iggy Pop business and all sorts of other
     stuff. She told me where to go and no mistake. I said, is there
     any chance of getting back together, like, but no way, no fucking
     way.

INT. HOSPITAL WARD SITTING-ROOM. DAY

A few elderly patients sit in armchairs watching daytime television.
Renton and Spud jump and climb through an open window. Watched by the
helpless patients, they calmly disconnect the television and take it with
them as they leave by the same route.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton and Tommy slumped side by side as before.
                                    TOMMY

     I want to try it, Mark. You're always going on about how it's the
     ultimate hit and that. Better than sex. Come on, I'm a fucking
     adult. I want to find out for myself.

Renton huddles up and leans away from Tommy.
I've got the money.
Tommy produces ten pounds from his pocket.

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton and Spud run along the street.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Tommy lies drugged on the floor.

---------

INT. FLAT TO BE BURGLED. DAY

The door of an ordinary flat is kicked open.
Begbie walks in, crowbar in hand, followed by Sick Boy and Spud.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

                                  SICK BOY

     Honor Blackman a.k.a. Pussy Galore, what a total fucking misnomer.
     I wouldn't touch her with yours. I'd sooner shag Col Kreb. At
     least you know where you are with a woman like that. Not much to
     look at, like, but personality, that's what counts, that's what
     keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin. I mean,
     heroin's got fucking great personality.

Sick Boy opens the heel of a his shoe to reveal a syringe.

---------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Swanney hands over a small bag of heroin in exchange for ten pounds from
Renton.

---------

INT. FLAT TO BE BURGLED, KITCHEN. DAY

Spud checks the fridge and pulls out a large chunk of deep-frozen meat.
He hits with the crowbar until it fractures and splits. Inside there is some
jewellery.

---------

INT. CAR. DAY

The car is empty. A window is broken and the door opened.
The car alarm goes off.
Renton reaches under the seat and finds the radio/cassette. He then pulls
the bonnet release.

EXT. CAR. DAY

The car alarm rings on until Renton calmly produces a pair of wire cutters
and a spanner to cut free and release the battery.
The alarm is silenced.
Renton walks away with the battery and the stereo.

INT. GP'S SURGERY. DAY

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     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 them with cancer
     victims, alcoholics, old age pensioners, AIDS patients, epileptics
     and bored housewives. We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclozine,
     codeine, temazepam, nitrezepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal
     dextropropoxyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine,
     buprenorphine, dextromoramide chlormethiazole. The streets are
     awash with drugs that you can have for unhappiness and pain, and
     we took them all. Fuck it, we would have injected Vitamin C if
     only they'd made it illegal.

The GP examines Renton's chest and smiles.
The GP turns to wash his hands. Renton pulls on his shirt and steals a
prescription pad off the desk.

---------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies back with his eyes close. A football enters the frame to bounce
off his head and out again.
He opens his eyes and it happens again.
Opposite him, Spud, Sick Boy and Tommy stand looking down on him.
Tommy throws the ball again.

---------

INT. PUB I. DAY

It's the first day of the Edinburgh Festival.
Renton, Tommy, Spud, Sick Boy and Begbie sit drinking.
They observe a young male American Tourist walk in in a bulky red anorak and
glasses. He goes past them towards the toilet.
Begbie stands up.

INT. PUB I, TOILET. DAY

The American Tourist turns from the urinal to see Begbie, Renton, Sick Boy,
Spud and Tommy approaching. Begbie punches and kicks the Tourist and pulls
out a knife.

---------

INT. TAXI. DAY

The door of the taxi opens, Begbie, Tommy, Spud, Sick Boy and Renton get in,
carrying the red anorak and glasses.
As the taxi pulls away they study the photograph in the passport. They look
at one another in agreement.

EXT. TAXI. DAY

The taxi motors along.

---------

INT. PUB I. NIGHT

A man at the bar is now wearing the red anorak.
Begbie divides up the money among Sick Boy, Tommy, Spud, and Renton.
Renton takes his share.
                                   BEGBIE

     And remember, Rents: no skag.

                                   RENTON

     Aye, OK, Fr.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     But the good times couldn't last for ever.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Renton lies as before. Around the room are Swanney, Allison, Tommy, Spud and
Sick Boy.
Allison begins screaming and wailing.
Slowly, the others rouse themselves to varying degrees.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I think Allison had been screaming all day, but it hadn't really
     registered before. She might have been screaming for a week for
     all I knew. It's been days since I've heard anyone speak, though
     surely someone must have said something in all that time, surely
     to fuck someone must have.

                                  SICK BOY

     What's wrong, Allison?

Allison points toward the bundle of dirty blankets in which her baby is
wrapped. Sick Boy follows her directions.
                                    SPUD
Calm down, calm down. It's going to be all right, everything's going to be
just fine.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Nothing could have been further from the truth. In point of fact,
     nothing at all was going to be just fine. On the contrary,
     everything was going to be bad. Bad? I mean worse than it already
     was.

Sick Boy stands over the bundle. The baby is dead.
                                  SICK BOY
Oh, fuck. Sick Boy reaches out to Allison.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     It wasn't my baby. She wasn't my baby. Baby Dawn. She wasn't mine.
     Spud's? Swanney's? Sick Boy's? I don't know. Maybe Allison knew.
     Maybe not. I wished I could think of something to say, something
     sympathetic, something human.

                                  SICK BOY
Say something, Mark, say something --
                                   RENTON
I'm cooking' up. There is a silence.
Renton begins scrambling around through the works.
                                   ALLISON

     Cook one for me, Renton. I need a hit.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     And so she did, I could understand that. To take the pain away. So
     I cooked up and she got a hit, but only after me. That went
     without saying.

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton, Spud and Sick Boy cross the road to approach the shop.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Well, at least we knew who the father was now. It wasn't just the
     baby that died that day. Something inside Sick Boy was lost and
     never returned. It seemed he had no theory with which to explain a
     moment like this.

---------

INT. SHOP. DAY

Renton, Spud and Sick Boy are stuffing their pockets, as seen before.
Renton's theft is interrupted by Diane's voice.
                                    DIANE

     Hello there, Mark.

Diane is standing just beside him.

     What are you doing?

Renton is speechless, but a few stolen items fall from inside his jacket
down to the floor.
Diane looks down.
Spud and Sick Boy start to snigger.
One of the Store Detectives become aware of the group. He starts walking
towards them.

     You didn't tell me you were a thief.

                                    SPUD

     Hey, go easy, lady. The boy's got a habit to support.

                                  SICK BOY

     Opium doesn't just grow on trees, you know.

A few more items fall from Renton's jacket as the store Detective closes in.
Renton looks at Diane.

---------

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton and Spud are running, pursued by the Two Store Detectives.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)
Nor did I. Our only response was to keep on going and fuck everything. Pile
misery upon misery, heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it with a drop of
bile, then squirt it into a stinking purulent vein and do it all over again.
Keep on going: getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people
over, propelling ourselves with longing towards the day it would all go
wrong. As seen in the opening scene, Renton is nearly hit by a car that
screeches to a halt as he crosses a road.
He looks at the driver, at Spud running away and the Store Detectives
approaching.
                                    (v.o)
Because no matter how much you stash or how much you steal, you never have
enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over you
always need to get up and do it all again. Renton smiles and waits.
                                    (v.o)
Sooner or later, this sort of thing was bound to happen. One of the
Detectives runs straight past him, after Spud.
The other Detective crashes into Renton with a mighty punch in the stomach.

INT. COURT. DAY

Spud and Renton stand in the dock. Renton's Mother and Father, Sick Boy,
Begbie, and Spud's Mother (Mrs. Murphy) are among those in the gallery.
The Sheriff delivers his sentence.
                                   SHERIFF

     ...because shoplifting is theft, which is a crime, and, despite
     what you may believe, there is no such entity as victimless crime.
     Heroin addiction may explain your actions, but it does not excuse
     them. Mr Murphy, you are a habitual thief, devoid of regret or
     remorse. In sentencing you to six months' imprisonment my only
     worry is that it will not be long before we meet again. Mr Renton,
     I understand that you have entered into a programme of
     rehabilation in an attempt to wean yourself away from heroin. The
     suspension of your sentence is conditional upon your continued
     cooperation with this programme. Should you stand guilty before me
     again, I shall not hesitate to impose a custodial sentence.

                                   RENTON

     Thank you, your honour. With God's help, I'll conquer this
     affliction.

The Sheriff and Renton stare at one another for a moment. Renton turns to
look at Spud, then back towards the Sheriff, who is now leaving the court.
                                    (v.o)

     What can you say? Well, Begbie had a phrase for it.

INT. PUB I. DAY

The pub is crowded. Around Renton are his mother, Father, Begbie, Sick Boy
and Gav.
                                   BEGBIE

     It was fucking obvious that that cunt was going to fuck some cunt.

There is a round to nodding and 'poor Spud'ing. Everyone begins to talk at
once.
                                   FATHER

     I hope you've learned your lesson, son.

                                   MOTHER

     Oh, my son, I thought I was going to lose you there. You're
     nothing but trouble to me, but I still love you.

                                   BEGBIE

     Clean up your act, sunshine. Cut that shite out for ever.

                                   MOTHER

     You listen to Francis, Mark, he's talking sense.

                                   BEGBIE

Fucking right I am. See, inside, you wouldn't last two fucking days.

                                  SICK BOY

There's better things that the needle, Rents. Choose life.

He winks.
                                   MOTHER

I remember when you were a baby, even when you would never do what you were
told.

                                   BEGBIE

     But he pulled it off, clever bastard, and he got a result.

They laugh, then fall silent.
Renton turns around. Behind him stands Spud's mother.
                                   RENTON

Mrs Murphy, I'm sorry about Spud. It's wasn't fair, him going down and not
me --

Tears in her eyes, Mrs Murphy turns and walks away.
Renton watches her go. Behind him Begbie shouts.
                                   BEGBIE

     It's no our fault. Your boy went down because he was fucking
     smack-head and if that's not your fault, I don't know what is.

Begbie turns back to Renton.

     Right. I'll get the drinks in.

He moves towards the bar.
Renton slips away.
Renton walks through the bar towards the toilets, then out of a back door.

EXT. YARD. DAY

Renton emerges into a narrow yard surrounded by a high wall. He looks
around. The steel back gate is locked.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I wished I had 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
     programme, the 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 till my next shot and a
     sweat on my back like a layer of frost. I need to visit the mother
     superior for one hit, one fucking hit to get us over this long,
     hard day.

Renton climbs the wall. He stands on top, then dives off the other side,
executing a somersault in mid-air.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. NIGHT

Swanney is cooking up. Renton lands on the floor behind him like a gymnast.
                                   RENTON

     What's on the menu this evening?

                                   SWANNEY

     Your favourite dish.

                                   RENTON

     Excellent.

                                   SWANNEY

     Your usual table, sir?

                                   RENTON

     Why, thank you.

Renton sits on his usual cushion on the floor.
                                   SWANNEY

     And would sir care to settle his bill in advance?

                                   RENTON

     Stick it on my tab.

                                   SWANNEY

     Regret to inform, sir, that your credit limit was reached and
     breached a long time ago.

                                   RENTON

     In that case --

He produces twenty pounds.
                                   SWANNEY

     Oh, hard currency, why, sir, that'll do nicely.

He swipes the notes underneath a UV forgery checker.

     Can't be too careful when we're dealing with your type, can we?

Renton begins his search for a vein.

     Would sir care for a starter? Some garlic bread perhaps?

                                   RENTON

     No, thank you. I'll proceed directly to the intravenous injection
     of hard drugs, please.

                                   SWANNEY

     As you wish.

He hands Renton the syringe. Renton inject, then lies back on the dirty,
red, carpeted floor. He lies completely still. His pupils shrink. His
breathing becomes slow, shallow and intermittent. He sinks into the floor
until he is lying in a coffin-shaped and coffin-sized pit, lined by the red
carpet. Swanney stands over him.
                                   SWANNEY

     Perhaps sir would like me to call for a taxi?

An ambulance siren becomes faintly audible.

INT. SWANNEY'S STAIRWELL. NIGHT

The siren is a little louder. Swanney holds Renton under his arms and drags
him backwards down the steps.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT

As Swanney emerges, still dragging Renton, the siren grows louder and then
an ambulance speeds by without stopping. Swanney drags Renton across the
pavement and into the open door of a waiting taxi. Swanney then steps out of
the taxi's other door, pausing only to tuck a ten-pound note into Renton's
pocket before closing the door.

INT. TAXI. NIGHT

Renton lies on the floor of the taxi, as Swanney left him, rolling slightly
as the taxi takes a corner.

EXT. HOSPITAL/TAXI. NIGHT

The taxi is stationary. We do not see the driver's face but his hand opens
the door and then drags Renton out on to the pavement by his ankles before
taking the ten pound note, getting back in the cab and driving away. Renton
lies on the pavement. Two Porters life him by arms and ankles on to a
trolley. We do not see the Porters's faces as they wheel Renton into the
hospital.

INT. HOSPITAL ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT. NIGHT

Renton is wheeled through the department, then into a bay surrounded by a
white nylon curtain.

INT. TROLLEY BAY. NIGHT

The Porters lift Renton from one trolley on to another, then leave him alone
in the bay surrounded by the curtain. Renton lies alone. His breathing is
still shallow and erratic. Around him is the usual accident and emergency
paraphernalia: blood pressure machine, oxygen tap, bandages, etc. A Doctor
comes in and gives Renton an injection, then leaves.
                                   DOCTOR

     Wake up. Wake up.

Renton breathes more easily.

---------

The Two Porters return with another trolley. They lift Renton roughly on to
it and wheel him away.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR. NIGHT

The Porters wheel Renton along.

INT. WARD. NIGHT

The Porters lift Renton off the trolley and dump him on the bed. A nurse
sticks a thermometer in his mouth.

INT. WARD. DAY

Renton's Father and Mother lift Renton, now fully conscious, off the bed and
dump him in a wheelchair.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR. DAY

Mother walks ahead. Behind her, Father pushes Renton in the wheelchair.

---------

INT. TAXI. DAY

Mother and Father sit on either side of Renton.

INT. RENTON'S BEDROOM. DAY

Father shoves Renton on to the bed, then walks out past Mother, who looks at
Renton for a moment before closing the door.

INT. OTHER SIDE OF RENTON'S BEDROOM DOOR. DAY

Renton's Father's hand slides three bolts across to lock the door.

INT. RENTON'S BEDROOM. DAY

Renton lies on the bed.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I don't feel the sickness yet, but it's in the post, that's for
     sure. I'm in the junky 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. Need like nothing else I have
     ever known will soon take hold of me. It's on the way.

The door opens. Renton's Mother walks in with a bowl of soup and a piece of
bread. Father watches from the doorway.
                                   MOTHER

     We'll help you, son. You'll stay with us until you get better.
     We'll beat this together.

                                   RENTON

     Maybe I could go back to the clinic.

                                   MOTHER

     No. No clinics, no methadone. That made you worse, you said so
     yourself. You lied to us, son, your own mother and father.

                                   RENTON

     At least get us some Tempazepam.

                                   MOTHER

     No, you're worse coming off that than you are with heroin. Nothing
     at all.

                                   FATHER

     It's a clean break this time.

                                   MOTHER

     You're staying where we can keep an eye on you.

                                   RENTON

     I do appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do, but I need
     just one score, to ease myself off it. Just one. Just one.

Mother retreats past Father, who closes the door. The bolts go home again.
Renton lies back and closes his eyes. His forehead is damp with sweat. He
begins to shake. He tosses and turns, becoming wrapped up in a swathe of
blankets. As he unravels them, he is astonished to find a fully clothed
Begbie in the bed with him.
                                   BEGBIE

     Well, this is a good laugh, you fucking useless bastard. Go on,
     sweat that shite out of your system, because if I come back and
     it's still there, I'll fucking kick it out.

Begbie laughs and covers himself up. Renton rips away the blankets, but
Begbie has gone. Renton looks up. Baby Dawn is crawling across the ceiling.
Renton looks down to see Diane sitting on the end of the bed. Diane sings
'Temptation' by New Order.
                                    DIANE

     'Oh, you've got green eyes, oh, you've got red eyes, and I've
     never met anyone quite like you before.'

Renton looks back up. Dawn continues her slow crawl, leaving behind a thick
rail of unidentifiable slime. Renton looks down. Sick Boy sits on the end of
the bed, holding a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. Mother stands behind
him.
                                  SICK BOY

     It's a mug's game, Mrs Renton. I'm not saying I was blameless
     myself, far from it, but there comes a time when you have to turn
     your back on that nonsense and just say no.

Sick Boy takes a bit of his biscuit. Dawn crawls on. She has fangs now. Spud
sits on the end of the bed, in a caricature prison uniform with arrows on
it, plus a ball and chain. Dawn has claws as well. Tommy sits on the end of
the bed. He looks terrible.
                                    TOMMY

     Better than sex, Rents, better than sex. The ultimate hit. I'm a
     fucking adult. I'll find out for myself. Well, I've found out all
     right.

Renton looks up again just as the baby drops on to his face. He tears her
off and throws her into a corner. Renton's Mother and Father are washing
him. Mother bends down and picks up the large, damp sponge from the corner,
where it landed. She wipes her son's face with it.
                                   FATHER

     Mark, there's something you need to do.

---------

INT. CONSULTING ROOM. DAY

A Doctor stands up as Renton enters.
                                   DOCTOR

     Come in. Sit down, please.

They both sit down.

     Well, you've already spoken to one of our counsellors, but before
     we go on there're just a few questions I'd like to ask you.

---------

INT. RENTON FAMILY HOME, LIVING-ROOM. DAY

Renton, his mother and Father sit watching television.

INT. STUDIO. DAY

Renton is sitting inside a plastic booth shaped like a giant syringe. The
Doctor, now dressed as a game-show host, stands in front, with Renton's
Mother and Father beside him.
                                   DOCTOR

     Question number one: the human immunodeficiency virus is a - what?

                                   FATHER

     Retrovirus?

                                   DOCTOR

     Retrovirus is the correct answer.

Fanfare.

     Question number two: HIV binds to which receptor on the host
     lymphocyte? Which Receptor?

Mother and Father confer.
                                   FATHER

     CD4.

                                   DOCTOR

     CD4 receptor is the correct answer.

Fanfare.

     And now, question number three: is he guilty or not guilty?

                                   MOTHER

     He's our son.

                                   DOCTOR

     Is the correct answer.

Fanfare.

     And now it's time to 'Take the Test'.

Lights flash. Music. A garish Hostess walks on with two envelopes. She holds
them out for Mother to choose one.

INT. CONSULTING ROOM. DAY

The Doctor watches in silence as the Hostess, now dressed as a medical
technician, draws blood from Renton's arm and puts it into a tube. She marks
the tube with a pre-printed, numbered label.

INT. STUDIO. DAY

Mother opens one of the envelopes. She is speechless with joy. The plastic
booth opens up. Lights flash again, etc. Renton steps out.

INT. SOCIAL CLUB. NIGHT

Renton, his Mother and Father sit at a table in the local social club. It is
a Saturday night and the club is busy. Everyone sits in rapt silence. It is
not initially clear what is going on. Near the bar a Caller with a
microphone calls over the PA - Two and four,
twenty-four...seven...fifteen...clickety-click, sixty-six - And so on, as he
draws the numbers from the drum. Everyone studies their cards, except
Renton, who studies the people instead, his drink untouched. The
number-calling continues until suddenly interrupted by Mother's voice.
                                   MOTHER
Mark...Mark, you've got a house. House! House! For goodness's sake, Mark.
They bustle around him and pass his card to the front.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     It seems, however, that I really am the luckiest guy in the world.
     Several years of addiction right in the middle of an epidemic,
     surrounded by the living dead, but not me -- I'm negative. It's
     official. And once the pain goes away, that's when the real battle
     starts. Depression. Boredom. You feel so fucking low, you'll want
     to fucking top yourself.

His mother counts a wad of money in front of him.

EXT. HOUSING ESTATE. DAY

On the door of a flat 'plaguer', 'HIV', and 'junky AIDS scum' are daubed on
the walls. The sound of a ball being regularly bounced against a wall can be
heard.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

It is poorly furnished. Tommy is seated. Renton has the football, which he
kicks against the wall and catches, then drops and kicks again, and so on.
The ball is slightly flat.
                                   RENTON

     Are you getting out much?

                                    TOMMY

     No.

                                   RENTON

     Following the game at all?

                                    TOMMY

     No.

                                   RENTON

     No. Me Neither.

Renton drops the ball. It rolls to a halt in the corner. He sits down.
                                    TOMMY

     You take the test?

                                   RENTON

     Aye.

                                    TOMMY

     Clear?

                                   RENTON

     Aye.

                                    TOMMY

     That's nice.

                                   RENTON

     I'm sorry, Tommy.

                                    TOMMY

     Have you got any gear on you?

                                   RENTON

     No, I'm clean.

                                    TOMMY

     Well, sub us, then, mate. I'm expecting a rent cheque.

Renton produces some of his bingo win. As he hands the notes over, their
eyes and hands meet for a moment. Tommy puts the money away.
                                    TOMMY
                                 (continued)

     Thanks, Mark.

                                   RENTON

     No problem.

                                    (v.o)

     No problem -- easy to say when its some other poor cunt with shite
     for blood.

---------

INT. HOSPITAL. NIGHT

Renton walks along a corridor and into a ward.

INT. WARD. DAY

Sheets cover the lower half of Swanney in bed. They are thrown back to
reveal the stump of an above-knee amputation.
                                   SWANNEY

     Surprise! Pa-pah!

Renton sits down and takes it in silence.

     Hit the artery by mistake. Common enough error, or so the quack
     tells us, as though that's going to make my leg grown back. Still,
     it could have been worse, it could have been my fucking dick. And
     I tell you what, in this place you get looked after: clean sheets,
     regular meals and all the morphine you can eat.

                                   RENTON

     Great.

                                   SWANNEY

     And see when I get out of here. I've got plans. Going to get
     myself straightened out and head off to Thailand, where women
     really know how to treat a guy. See, out there you can live like a
     king if you've got white skin and a few crisp tenners in your
     pocket. No fucking problem.

                                   RENTON

     Sure.

                                   SWANNEY

     The strategy is this: get clean, get mobile, get into dealing, and
     this time next year I'll be watching the rising sun with a posse
     of oriental buttocks parked on my coupon.

                                   RENTON

     Sounds great, Swanney.

                                   SWANNEY

     Yeah.

                                   RENTON

     You'll have to send us a postcard.

                                   SWANNEY
Sure will, pal, sure will.

EXT. PARK. DAY

Renton and Sick Boy are seated in their firing patch, sitting on plastic
bags with beer, vodka, hash and the cassette player. The airgun is present
as before, but they are not making any use of it.
                                  SICK BOY
Eughh. Sounds horrible.
                                   RENTON
It wasn't that bad.
                                  SICK BOY
Did he -- you know?
                                   RENTON
What?
                                  SICK BOY
You know.
                                   RENTON
No, he didn't make me touch it.
                                  SICK BOY
Oh no, don't even mention it.
                                   RENTON
He made me lick it.
                                  SICK BOY
God, you're sick.
                                   RENTON

     And I got a stitch stuck between my teeth, jerked my head back and
     the whole fucking stump fell off.

                                  SICK BOY

     Cut it out.

                                   RENTON

     When are you going to visit him?

                                  SICK BOY

     Don't know. Maybe Thursday.

                                   RENTON

     You're a real mate. And what about Tommy? Have you been to see him
     yet?

Sick Boy is silent. He stiffens as he avoids Renton's gaze. They shift
fractionally apart. RENTON tuts.
                                  SICK BOY

     Fuck you. OK, so Tommy's got the virus. Bad news, big deal. The
     gig goes on, or hadn't you noticed? Swanney fucks his leg up.
     Well, tough shit, but it could have been worse.

                                   RENTON

     You're all hear.

                                  SICK BOY

     I know a couple of addicts. Stupid wee lassies. I feed them what
     they need. A little bit of skag to keep them happy while the
     punters line up at a fiver a skull. It's easy money for me. Not
     exactly a fortune, but I'm thinking, 'I should be coining it
     here.' Less whores, more skag. Swanney's right. Get clean, get
     into dealing, that's where the future lies. Set up some contacts,
     get a good load of skag, punt it, profit. What do you think?

                                   RENTON

     Fuck you.

                                  SICK BOY

     And I'll tell you why. Because I'm fed up to my back teeth with
     losers, no-hopers, draftpacks, schemies, junkies and the like. I'm
     getting on with life. What are you doing?

---------

INT. RENTON'S BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton sits alone on the bed, making a joint and reading a book. There is a
knock at the door. Renton answers the door.
                                   RENTON

     What do you want?

                                    DIANE

     Are you clean?

                                   RENTON

     Yes.

                                    DIANE

     Is that a promise, then?

                                   RENTON

     Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.

                                    DIANE

     Calm down, I'm just asking. Is that hash I can smell?

                                   RENTON

     No.

                                    DIANE

     I wouldn't mind a bit, if it is.

                                   RENTON

     Well, it isn't.

                                    DIANE

     Smells like it.

                                   RENTON

     You're too young.

                                    DIANE

     Too young for what?

Renton looks in each direction along the empty passageway.

INT. RENTON'S BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton and Diane are lying in the bed. Diane, wearing one of Renton's
T-shirts, is rolling a mega-joint, quite unaware of the scrutiny of Renton.
                                    DIANE

     You're not getting any younger, Mark. The world is changing, music
     is changing, even drugs are changing. You can't stay in here all
     day dreaming about heroin and Ziggy Pop.

                                   RENTON

     It's Iggy Pop.

                                    DIANE

     Whatever. I mean, the guy's dead anyway.

                                   RENTON

     Iggy Pop is not dead. He toured last year. Tommy went to see him.

                                    DIANE

     The point is, you've got to find something new.

Diane completes the joint.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     She was right. I had to find something new. There was only one
     thing for it.

EXT. LONDON. DAY

As contemporary retake of all those 'Swinging London' montages: Red
Routemaster/Trafalgar Square/Big Ben/Royalty/City gents in suits/Chelsea
ladies/fashion victims/Piccadilly Circus at night. Incut with close-ups of
classic street names on a street map (all the ones made famous by Monopoly.

INT. ESTATE AGENT'S OFFICE. DAY

The montage ends on one street, then draws back to reveal the whole map of
London pinned to a wall. A Man holding a telephone walks in front of the
mape and belches loudly. Revealing more, he is in a scruffy, cramped office
with half a dozen occupied desks and twice as many telephones. Seated at the
one nearest to the belching Man is Renton. He is wearing a shirt and tie
now. He turns in response to the belch.
                                     MAN

     Can you take this call?

Renton takes the telephone and reaches for a piece of paper from which he
reads.
                                   RENTON

     Hello, yes, certainly. It's a beautifully converted Victorian town
     house. Ideally located in a quiet road near to local shops and
     transport.

Renton checks his watch.

EXT. THE AI IN NORTH LONDON. DAY

Renton stands waiting beside this busy London road, outside some very
unfortunate housing, as the traffic streams past.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Two bedrooms and a kitchen/diner. Fully fitted in excellent
     decorative order. Lots of storage space. All mod cons. Three
     hundred and twenty pounds per week.

A couple approach. Renton unlocks the door of a flat and holds the door open
while he ushers them in.

INT. LONDON FLAT. DAY

Renton shows the Couple round a typical London flat nightmare. A poor
conversion, poor decor, everything small and ill-fitting. The windows rattle
as the traffic roars by.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I settled in not too badly and I kept myself to myself. Sometimes,
     of course, I thought about the guys, but mainly I didn't miss them
     at all. After all, this was boom town where any fool could make
     cash from chaos and plenty did. I quite enjoyed the sound of it
     all. Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting,
     subletting, subdividing, cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking
     away. There was no such thing as society and even if there was, I
     most certainly had nothing to do with it. For the first time in my
     adult life I was almost content.

INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton finishes eating a pot noodle. He puts it down and picks up a letter.
He lies back and reads. Intercut with:

INT. SCHOOLROOM. DAY

A class is in progress. A teacher lectures to a mixed class, but Diane is
not listening as she is writing.

EXT. SCHOOL. DAY

Diane is leaving the school when Sick Boy catches up with her. They stop and
then she walks away.

EXT. PARK. DAY

Diane walks along a concrete path. As she does so she has to step over Spud,
who lies asleep/unconscious beside the remains of a carry out.
                                    DIANE
                                    (v.o)

     Dear Mark, I'm glad you've found a job and somewhere to live.
     School is fine at the moment. I'm not pregnant but thanks for
     asking. Your friend Sick Boy asked me last week if I would like to
     work for him but I told him where to go. I met Spud, who sends his
     regards, or at least I think that's what he said. No one has seen
     Tommy for ages. And finally, Fracis Begbie has been on television
     a lot this week. --

INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton turns the page.
                                    DIANE
                                    (v.o)

     as he is wanted by the police in connection with an armed robbery
     in a jeweller's in Corstorphine. Take care. Yours with love,
     Diane.

There is a buzz at the door. Renton re-examines the letter. There is another
buzz.
                                   RENTON

     Oh no.

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton opens the door to an unseen figure. It is Begbie.

INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton sits on the bed. Begbie stands over him, pointing a gun at his head.
He pulls the trigger. It clicks harmlessly.
                                   BEGBIE

     Armed robbery? With a replica? How can it be armed robbery? It's a
     fucking scandal.

He 'fires' the gun a few more times at his own head, then chucks it to the
floor.

     And the haul. Look.

He digs a few rings out of his pocket and throws them to Renton.

     Solid silver, my arse. I took it to a fence -- it's trash, pure
     trash. There's young couples investing all their hopes in that
     stuff, and what are they getting?

                                   RENTON

     It's a scandal, Franco.

                                   BEGBIE

     Too right it is. Now look, have you got anything to eat, 'cos I'm
     fucking Lee Marvin, by the way.

INT. BEDSIT. DAY

Begbie is sitting on the bed in his underwear, eating cereal while watching
television. A small carry-out is nearby. Renton finishes dressing for work.
He pauses at the open door, looking back towards his guest.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Begbie settled in in no time at all.

Begbie opens a can of beer. Renton closes the door.

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAY

Renton closes his door. He is about to walk away when he heard Begbie
shouting.
                                   BEGBIE
                              (from the bedsit)

     Rents, Rents, come fucking back here.

Renton opens the door. Begbie is holding out an empty packet of cigarettes.

     Look.

                                   RENTON

     What?

                                   BEGBIE

     I've no fucking cigarettes.

Begbie throws the packet down to the floor. It lands near the door. He has
turned back to the television and takes a swig of beer.
                                   RENTON

     Right.

Renton closes the door again.

INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton and Begbie lie in the single bed with their heads at opposite ends.
Begbie snores. Renton is wide awake, with a pair of smelly- socked feet only
inches from his nose.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Yeah, the guy's a psycho, but it's true, he's a mate as well, so
     what can you do?

INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAY

Where the first empty packet of cigarettes fell to the floor there is now a
large heap of empty packets: the product of weeks at sixty a day. Another
one lands on the pile. Begbie, still in his underwear, still can in hand,
sits watchig the racing as before. Behind his, cigarettes and alcohol are
stacked up like a miniature duty-free warehouse. Renton sits behind him,
reading a book.
                                   BEGBIE

     Hey, I'm wanting a bet put on.

                                   RENTON

     Can you not go yourself.

                                   BEGBIE

     I'm a fugitive from the law. I can't be seen on the fucking
     streets. Now watch my lips. Kempton Park. Two-thirty. Five pounds
     to win. Bad Boy.

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE BEDSIT. DAY

The door opens, Renton walks out, the door closes and Renton walks away. A
wild, frightening scream erupts from beyond the door.

INT. LONDON BEDSIT. DAY

Begbie, alone in the bedsit, is screaming a cry of primal joy.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Bad Bot came in at 16 to 1. And with the winnings, we went out to
     celebrate.

INT. LONDON PARTY. NIGHT

To loud music and strobing, fractured lights, surrounded by dry ice, Begbie
dances near a tall woman. Other people dance nearby. Begbie gives the thumbs
up to Renton, who sits on a stool at one side drinking from a bottle of
beer. Begbie and the Woman walk away. Renton looks around the club at the
various men and women.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Diane was right. The world is changing, music is changin, drugs
     are changing, even men and women are changing. One thousand years
     from now there'll be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds
     great to me. It's just a pity that no one told Begbie.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT

A car sits in a street near the club, windows steamed up.

INT. CAR. NIGHT

Begbie and the Woman embrace passionately. The Woman undoes Begbie's
trousers.

INT. PARTY. NIGHT

Renton's gaze continues to wander around.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     You see, if you ask me, we're heterosexual by default, not be
     decision. It's just a question of who you fancy.

INT. CAR. NIGHT

Begbie and the Woman continue their embrace as she unbuttons his shirt.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     It's all about aesthetics and it's fuck all to do with morality.

Suddenly Bedbie freezes. He is holding the 'Woman's' groin. There is
something there that shouldn't be. Begbie goes crazy, simultaneously trying
to put his clothes back on, hit the Woman and get out of the car.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT

Begbie stumbles away from the car, pulling up his trousers as he goes.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     But you try telling Begbie that.

INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT

Begbie sits on the bed. Renton is sitting on the floor watching.
                                   BEGBIE

     I'm no a fucking buftie and that's the end of it.

                                   RENTON

     Let's face it, it could have been wonderful.

Begbie leaps off the bed, grabs Renton and head-butts him, then holds him by
the lapel.
                                   BEGBIE

     Now, listen to me, you little piece of junky shit. A joke's a
     fucking joke, but you mention that again and I'll cut you up.
     Understand?

Begbie produces his knife. There is a knock on the door. They do not move.
There is another knock.

INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT

Begbie lies sleeping on the bed. There are now two sets of feet by his head,
one on each side. At the other end lie Renton (awake) and Sick Boy (asleep).
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Since I last saw him, Sick Boy had reinvented himself as a pimp
     and a pusher and was here to mix business and pleasure, setting up
     'contacts', as he constantly informed me, for the great skag deal
     that was one day going to make him rich.

----------

INT. ESTATE AGENT'S OFFICE. DAY

Renton sits at his desk, haggard and tired. Other people bustle around him.
Telephones ring, etc... In the background the Man (who belched) is trying to
promote a flat down the telephone.
                                     MAN

     Beautifully converted Victorian town house. Ideally located in a
     quiet road near to local shops and transport. Two bedrooms and a
     kitchen/diner. Fully fitted in excellent decorative order. Lots of
     storage space. All mod cons. Three hundred and twenty pounds a
     week.

----------

INT. BEDSIT. NIGHT

Renton (still dressed for work), Begbie and Sick Boy sit in a line on the
bed with fish suppers laid out on their laps, but Renton's is untouched.
                                  SICK BOY

     Good chips.

                                   RENTON

     I can't believe you did that.

                                  SICK BOY

     I got a good price for it. Rents, I need the money.

                                   RENTON

     It was my fucking television.

                                  SICK BOY

     Well, Christ, if I'd known you were going to get so humpty about
     it, I wouldn't have bothered. Are you going to eat that?

He takes Renton's fish supper and adds it to his own.

     Have you got a passport?

                                   RENTON

     Why?

                                  SICK BOY

     Well, this guy I've met runs a hotel. Brother. Loads of contacts.
     Does a nice little sideline in punting British passports to
     foreigners. Get you a good price.

                                   RENTON

     Why would I want to sell my passport?

                                  SICK BOY

     It was just an idea.

INT. LEFT LUGGAGE ROOM. DAY

Renton drops his passport into an envelope and throws the envelope into a
locker. He turns the key and pockets it. RENTON (v.o)

     I had to get rid of them. Sick Boy didn't do his drug deal and he
     didn't get rich. Instead, he and Begbie just hung around my bedsit
     looking for things to steal. I decided to put them in the worst
     place in the world.

EXT. BUSY LONDON ROAD. DAY

Traffic floods past as before.

INT. LONDON FLAT. DAY

Inside the flat that Renton showed the couple around. Sick Boy and Begbie
are standing in the hallway. Renton is in the open doorway. He throws them
the keys and leaves.

INT. LONDON BEDSIT. NIGHT

The cramped bedsit is a mess, filled with litter and unwashed clothes.
Renton lies on his bed, content to be alone.

INT. LONDON FLAT. NIGHT

The flat is in darkness. The door opens a figure enters. It is the man from
Renton's office.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     But, of course, they weren't paying any rent, so when my boss
     found two desperate suckers who would, Sick Boy and Begbie were
     bound to feel threatened.

Man is followed by another couple. He switches on a light.
                                     MAN

     As you can see, it's a beautiful conversion. Two bedrooms,
     kitchen/diner. Fully fitted. Lots of storage. All mod cons. Three
     hundred and twenty quid a week.

From nowhere, Begbie and Sick Boy spring out at him.

----------

INT. BEDSIT. DAY

Renton looks around the stripped, empty bedsit one last time before closing
the door as he leaves.

----------

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     And that was that. But by then we had another reason to go back.
     Tommy.

EXT. RAILWAY. DAY

An InterCity train speeds by.

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. NIGHT

A kitten sits on the floor.
                                     GAV
                                    (v.o)

     Tommy knew he had the virus, like, but never knew he'd gon
     full-blown.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     What was it, pneumonia or cancer?

                                     GAV
                                    (v.o)

     No, toxoplasmosis. Sort of like a stroke.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Eh? How's that?

INT. CREMATORIUM CHAPEL. DAY

A service is in progress. Those present include Renton and Gav, who are
engaged in hushed conversation, Begbie, Spud, Sick Boy, and Lizzy.
                                     GAV

     He wanted to see Lizzy again.

He indicated Lizzy. Lizzy wouldn't let him near the house. So he brought a
present for her, brought her a kitten.
                                   RENTON

     I bet Lizzy told him where to put it.

                                     GAV

     Exactly. I'm not wanting a cat, she says. Get to fuck, right. So
     there's Tommy stuck with this kitten. You can imagine what
     happened. The thing was neglected, pissing and shitting all over
     the place. Tommy was lying around fucked out of his eyeballs on
     smack or downers. He didn't know you could get toxoplasmosis from
     cat shit.

                                   RENTON

     I didn't either. What the fuck is it?

INT. TOMMY'S FLAT. DAY

The kitten as before. Slow track back to reveal more.
                                     GAV
                                    (v.o)

     He starts getting headaches, so he just uses more smack, for the
     pain, like. There he has a stroke. A fucking stroke. Just like
     that. God home from hospital and died about three weeks later.
     Been dead for ages before the neighbours complained about the
     smell and the police broke the door down. Tommy was lying face
     down in a pool of vomit.

The lower half of Tommy's clothed body is visible.

INT. CREMATORIUM CHAPEL. DAY

The coffin travels away. Gav and Renton watch it go.
                                     GAV

     The kitten was fine.

INT. PUB I. NIGHT

Gav, Renton, Spud, Sick Boy, Begbie and a few others are gathered in the
pub, still dressed in their funeral garb.

----------

                                    SPUD

     Every time I think of Tommy I think of Australian, because every
     time I went round he was just lying there, junked out of his mind,
     watching Aussie soaps. Until he sold the telly, of course, then he
     was just lying there. Buy every time I think of him, I still think
     of Australia.

----------

There is a short silence before Spud begins softly singing 'Two Little
Boys'. He finishes unaccompanied.

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. NIGHT

Spud, Begbie, and Renton are seated. Sick Boy is handing around bottles of
beer before he too sits down. They are all wearing their funeral garb.
Renton raises his bottle.
                                   RENTON

     Tommy.

They all drink.
                                  SICK BOY

     Did you tell him?

                                   BEGBIE

     No. On you go.

                                   RENTON

     What?

                                  SICK BOY

     There's a mate of swanney's. Mikey Forrester -- you know the guy.
     He's come into some gear. A lot of gear.

                                   RENTON

     How much?

                                  SICK BOY

     About four kilos. So he tells me. Got drunk in a pub down by the
     docks last week, where he met two Russian sailors. They're fucking
     carrying the stuff. For sale there and then, like. So he wakes up
     the next morning, realizes what he's done and get very fucking
     nervous. Wants rid of this. {---------- He's looking for Swanney
     to punt it, but Swanney's nowhere to be seen since he lost his
     leg. ----------}

                                   RENTON

     So?

                                  SICK BOY

     So he met me and I offered to take it off his hands at a very
     reasonable price, with the intention of punting it on myself to a
     guy I know in London.

                                   RENTON

     So we've just come from Tommy's funeral and you're telling me
     about a skag deal?

                                   BEGBIE

     Yeah.

There is silence.
                                   RENTON

     What was your price?

                                  SICK BOY

     Four Grand.

                                   RENTON

     But you don't have the money?

                                  SICK BOY

     We're two thousand short.

                                   RENTON

     That's tough.

                                  SICK BOY

     Come on, Mark, every cunt knows you've been saving up down in
     London.

                                   RENTON

     Sorry, boys, I don't have two thousand pounds.

                                   BEGBIE

     Yes, you fucking do. I've seen your statement.

                                   RENTON

     Jesus.

                                   BEGBIE

     Two thousand, one hundred and thirty-three pounds.

                                   RENTON

     Four kilos. That's what -- Ten years' worth? Russian sailors?
     Mikey Forrester? What the fuck are you on these days? You've been
     to jail, Spud, so what's the deal -- like it so much you want to
     go back again?

                                    SPUD

     I want the money, Mark, that's all.

                                   BEGBIE

     If everyone keeps their mouth shut, there'll be no one going to
     jail.

----------

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton is visible first, apparently talking to himself, then Diane.
                                   RENTON

     It's so simple. We buy it at four grand, we punt it at twenty to
     this guy that Sick Boy knows, and he punts it at sixty. Everyone's
     happy, everyone's in profit. I put up two. I come away with six.

                                    DIANE

     Unless you get caught.

                                   RENTON

     So long as everyone keeps their mouths shut, we'll not be getting
     caught.

                                    DIANE

     So why have you told me about it?

                                   RENTON

     Well, you're not going to tell anyone, are you, and besides, I
     thought we could meet up afterwards, maybe go somewhere together.

                                    DIANE

     I've got a boyfriend, Mark.

                                   RENTON

     What? Steady like?

                                    DIANE

     That's right: 'going steady' for four weeks now.

                                   RENTON

     And what age are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?

                                    DIANE

     Sixteen next month.

                                   RENTON

     Happy birthday.

                                    DIANE

     What do you think -- I should be carrying a torch for you?

Renton thinks it over.
                                   RENTON

     So, what's he like?

                                    DIANE

     Well, he's young and he's healthy.

They both laugh.

     And you're such a deadbeat, Mark.

----------

INT. SWANNEY'S FLAT. DAY

Heroin is in the process of being prepared for injection: heated, drawn up,
etc. An arm is prepared for injection: sleeve rolled up, tourniquet bound,
veins tapped, etc. Mikey forrester, Sick Boy, Spud, and Begbie look on.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     I hadn't told anyone everything that was running through my mind
     about what might happen in London. There were a lot of
     possibilities I didn't want to talk to anyone about. Ideas best
     kept to myself. What no one told me was that when we bought the
     skag, some lucky punter would have to try it out. Begbie didn't
     trust Spud and Sick Boy was too careful these days, so I rolled up
     my sleeve and did what had to be done.

Renton injects the heroin into a vein in his arm.
                                   RENTON
It's good, it's fucking good.

----------

EXT. BUS STATION. NIGHT

Renton walks past a Beggar huddling against a wall. The Beggar's sign reads:
'FALKLANDS VETERAN. I LOST MY LEG FOR MY COUNTRY. PLEASE HELP.' The beggar
is Swanney.

----------

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Yes, that hit was good. I promised myself another one before I got
     to London -- just for old time's sake, just to piss Begbie off.

EXT. ROAD. NIGHT

The bus travels towards London.

INT. BUS. NIGHT

Sick Boy dabs at amphetamine. Spud drinks.

INT. BUS TOILET. NIGHT

Renton cooks up in the bus toilet.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     This was to be my final hit. But let's be clear about this:
     there's final hits and final hits. What kind was this to be?
     {----------Some final hits are actually terminal one way or
     another, while others are merely transit points as you travel from
     station to station on the junky journey through junky life.
     ----------}

INT. BUS. NIGHT

Begbie sits grimly. The others are relaxed.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     This was his nightmare. The dodgiest scam in a lifetime of dodgie
     scams being perpetrated with three of the most useless and
     unreliable fuck-ups in town. I knew what was going on in his mind:
     any trouble in London and he would dump us immediately, one way or
     another. He had to. If he got caught with a bagful of skag, on top
     of that armed robbery shit, he was going down for fifteen to
     twenty. Begbie was hard, but not so hard that he didn't shite it
     off twenty years in Saughton.

                                   BEGBIE

     Did you bring the cards?

                                  SICK BOY

     What?

                                   BEGBIE

     The cards. The last thing I said to you was mind the cards.

                                  SICK BOY

     Well, I've not brought them.

                                   BEGBIE

     It's fucking boring after a while without 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

     Well, why didn't you bring them?

                                   BEGBIE

     Because I fucking told you to do that, you doss cunt.

                                  SICK BOY

     Christ.

EXT. LONDON. DAY

The bus travels through London.

EXT. STREET. DAY

The gang enter a cheap hotel. Begbie's bag contains the heroin.

INT. HOTEL. DAY

They are met by Andreas, a man in his late thirties of Mediterranean
appearance. He shakes Sick Boy's hand.
                                   ANDREAS

     These are your friends?

                                  SICK BOY

     These are the guys I told you about.

                                   ANDREAS

     OK.

                                  SICK BOY

     Is he here?

                                   ANDREAS

     Yes, he's here. I hope you didn't get followed or nothing.

                                   BEGBIE

     We didn't get followed.

Andreas leads them along a corridor and into a room.

INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY

An exceptional Man is waiting. Andreas leaves the room and closes the door.
The Man opens both and tastes the heroin. He produces a set of kitchen
scales from his bag and weighs the two bags.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Straight away he clocked us from what we were: small-time wasters
     with an accidental big deal.

                                     MAN

     So what do you want for it?

                                   BEGBIE

     Twenty thousand.

                                     MAN

     But it's not worth more than fifteen.

                                   BEGBIE

     Ninteen.

The man shakes his head and lights a cigarette.
                                     MAN

     Nineteen I can't offer you, I'm sorry.

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     This was a real drag to him. He didn't need to negotiate. I mean,
     what the fuck were we going to do if he didn't buy it? Sell it on
     the streets. Fuck that.

The deal is done. The Man hands over the money and waits as it is counted,
then leaves with the drugs.
                                    (v.o)

     We settled on sixteen thousand pounds. He had a lot more in the
     suitcase, but it was better than nothing. And just for a moment it
     felt really great, like we were all in it together, like friends,
     like it meant something. A moment like that, it can touch you deep
     inside, but it doesn't last long, not like sixteen thousand
     pounds.

INT. LONDON PUB. DAY

The pub is crowded with afternoon drinkers. Renton, Spud, Sick Boy and
Begbie sit drinking. Begbie is still keeping a firm hand on the sports bag,
which now holds the money.
                                  SICK BOY

     So what are you planning with your share, Spud?

                                   RENTON

     Buy yourself that island in the sun?

                                   BEGBIE

     For four fucking grand? One plam tree, a couple of rocks, and a
     sewage outflow.

                                    SPUD

     I don't know, maybe I'll buy something for my ma, and then buy
     some good speed, no bicarb like, then get a girl, take her out
     like, and treat her -- properly.

                                   BEGBIE

     Shag her senseless.

                                    SPUD

     No, I don't mean like that -- I mean something nice, like, that's
     all --

                                   BEGBIE

     You daft cunt. If you're going to waste it like that, you might as
     well leave it all to me. Now get the drinks in.

                                  SICK BOY

     I got a round already.

                                    SPUD

     I got the last one.

                                   RENTON

     It's your round Franco.

Begbie stands up.
                                   BEGBIE

     OK. Same again?

                                  SICK BOY

     I'm off for a pish. When I come back, that money's still here, OK?

                                   RENTON

     The moment you turn your back, we're out that door.

Sick Boy walks away towards the toilet.
                                  SICK BOY

     I'll be right after you.

                                   BEGBIE

     You'll never catch us, you flabby bastard. Right, see, when I come
     back --

                                   RENTON

     We'll be half-way down the road with the money.

                                   BEGBIE

     I'd fucking kill you.

                                   RENTON

     I guess you would, Franco.

Begbie walks away to the bar. Spud and Renton look at each other and the bag
of money.

     Are you game for it?

Spud looks at the bag and around the pub towards the toilet door and Begbie.
Begbie stands at the bar, awaiting the pints.

     Well?

                                    SPUD

     Are you serious?

Renton looks around.
                                   RENTON

     I don't know. What do you think?

Spud says nothing. Suddenly they are interrupted.
                                  SICK BOY

     Still here, I see.

Sick Boy sits down.
                                   RENTON

     Why not? I know I would. Where's Franco?

Renton turns to see Begbie making his way through the crowd with the pints
helf precariously. As he reaches the table a Man standing with a group of
friends accidentally nudges Begbie, causing a pint to spill over him.
                                   BEGBIE

     For fuck's sake.

                                     MAN

     Sorry, mate, I'll get you another.

                                   BEGBIE

     All down my fucking front, you fucking idiot.

                                     MAN

     Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.

                                   BEGBIE

     Sorry's no going to dry me off, you cunt.

                                   RENTON

     Cool down, Franco. The guy's sorry.

                                   BEGBIE

     Not sorry enough for being a fat cunt.

                                     MAN

     Fuck you. If you can't hold a pint, you shouldn't be in the pub,
     mate. Now fuck off.

Begie drops the remaining three pints. As the Man looks down to the falling
glasses, Begbie punches him in the face and knees him in the groin. A fight
breaks out between the Man and Begbie. Sick Boy rushes forward to restrain
Begbie. Renton sits still, not even looking at the fight or what follows.
His eyes are fixed on the bag while his hands fiddle. Begbie stabs Spud in
the hand.
                                    SPUD

     Jesus Christ.

                                  SICK BOY

     Good one, Franco.

                                   BEGBIE

     Shut you mouth or you'll be next.

                                    SPUD

     You've stabbed me, man.

                                   BEGBIE

     You were in my way.

Begbie, blade still in hand, addresses the entire pub.

     And anyone in my way gets it, fucking gets it. Everybody hear
     that? Everybody happy?

Nobody says anything. Renton is seated as before, avoiding Begbie's gaze.
Begbie addresses him.

     Hey, Rent-boy, bring us down a smoke.

Renton does not move.
                                  SICK BOY

     We'd better go, Franco.

                                    SPUD

     I've got to get to the hospital, man.

                                   BEGBIE
(to Spud)

     You're not going to and fucking hospital.

(to Sick Boy)

     You're staying there.

(to Renton)

     And you bring me a fucking cigarette.

Renton swivels and stands up.

     And the bag.

Renton lifts the bag and slowly approaches Begbie. Renton, nervous, hand
shaking, pulls a packet of cigarettes from a pocket and holds it towards
Begbie. Begbie does not move. Renton holds out the bag. Begbie takes it. Now
Renton selects a cigarette and hands it over to Begbie. Begbie inhales
deeply and then blows the smoke towards Renton

INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY

Renton lies awake, sharing a bed with Sick Boy, who is asleep. Spud and
Begbie lie on the other, both asleep. Begbie has an arm draped over the bag,
holding it close. Renton gets up and goes to the small bathroom. He puts the
light on above the mirror and looks at himself. He washes his face and
drinks a glass of water, then walks back to the bedroom. Renton pulls on his
jacket and shoes. He stands over Begbie, then reaches carefully down to life
Begbie's arm up. As he does so he realizes that Spud is watching him. They
say nothing. Renton takes the bag. Begbie stirs but does not wake.

----------

Renton looks down at Spud for a moment before unzipping the bag. He pulls
out a small wad of cash, which he hands to Spud. Spud tucks the wad away.

----------

Renton walks to the door and opens it. He nods to Spud, then disappears.

INT. LOCKER. DAY

Envelope being removed.

INT. LEFT LUGGAGE. DAY

Renton takes the passport from the envelope.

EXT. STREET. DAY

Renton walks away.
                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     Now, I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways: it wasn't
     a big deal, just a minor betrayal, or we'd outgrown each other,
     you know, that sort of thing, but let's face it, I ripped them
     off. My so-called mayes. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit about
     him, and Sick Boy, well, he'd have done the same to me if only
     he'd thought of it first, and Spud, well, OK, I felt sorry for
     Spud -- he never hurt anybody.

INT. HOTEL. DAY

Prostitutes, punters, Sick Boy and Spud line the corridor as two Policement
walk past towards:

INT. HOTEL ROOM. DAY

Begbie goes radge.

EXT. STREET. DAY

                                   RENTON
                                    (v.o)

     So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false.
     The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's going to change,
     I'm going to change. This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm
     cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life.
     I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you:
     the job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing
     machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good
     health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home,
     leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk
     food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf,
     washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed
     pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking
     ahead, to the day you die.

                                   THE END