◉ I Made Sure It Had Nothing Whatsoever To Do With Hong Kong: A Confession
◉ The Ballad of Billy Lopez: An Excerpt
Stewart McKay, The Ballad of Billy Lopez, Proverse Publishing, 2024. 208 pgs.
So I’m walking down the middle of the road minding my own goddamn business hands in pockets bit of a swagger I don fuckin give a shit bout the car horns go on honk buddy I know you ain’t gon run me over pussy.
Doc Michael told me to write in this here diary and first I was gonna slap him cross the face with it cos I ain’t writin diaries but then Doc says don’t mind bout periods and all that shit an he really says shit cos Docs a cool sonofabitch who can say words like shit in school without getting a detention. So I can write like I think and not care bout how some stuck up bitch like Miss Devine gon give me a F – that’s why I don’t go to your class Miss Devine—and only write a period if I want to like I just did back then an like I’m gonna do now.
Car horns still honk honk honking but I’ll move when I’m ready Mr Letmeseewhatkindacaryoudrive—ha Alfa Romeo bitch I’m just gon keep walking till you don’t sound that horn for five seconds… one… two… don sound that horn now… three… four… I mean it you flashy fuck… five… OK, you may pass. I stand on the sidewalk an give Mr Alfa Romeo the finger and he says something I can’t get cos I ain’t no goddamn lipreader and drives right on that’s right buddy jus keep on goin you ain’t gon stop to kick a sixteen year old’s ass are you not that you could.
I hear the school bell ringin an decide that today I’ll only be ten minutes late cos first period is soccer an I feel like kickin some fuckin legs. Tomorrows history I’ll give that a miss but day after that’s English an I’ll see how I feel bout Miss Devine bitch bitch bitchin in my ear probably I’ll give it a wide fuckin skip but there’s always a chance she might have on that low low top showin off her tits. Friday’s math and I always go on time cos I’m good at math one of the best in the class tho ol Whittaker hates to admit it. I bet none of the numbnuts in 10C think Brad Hart knows his timetable but they’re the dumbasses cos I know it without lookin.
Doc asked me one time if I enjoyed bein late for school like does it give me a thrill or some shit and I said no only losers are early for class ain’t they an he didn’t laugh which was kinda weird cos normally the Doc laughs at things I say even when I don mean to be funny.
Now I’m passin ol Lorettas’ candy store an make sure I stand in the window long enough for her to see me an make a face like a slapped ass cos last week she told me to empty my pockets an show what I’d been thievin so I did an showed her nothin but my wallet n smokes and her face was a right fuckin picture it felt so good specially with the pack of Frutees stuck down my ass crack. That’s right Loretta you ol whore everyone knows you suck twelfth grade dick as a grad present don’t worry I ain’t comin in not today anyway.
It’s goddamn sunny an I’m sweatin like pa when my ma locks the liquor cabinet so I chuck my jacket roun my neck an roll my T up to the shoulders strollin down the hill. 10Cs already out on the field stretchin an Miss C says something like nice of you to join us Bradley there’s a spare uniform on the bench she’s alright Miss C really cos she just leaves me alone not like all the other pain-in-the-ass teachers at this shitty school. Also it was her idea to have spare shorts and crap so guys like me could always play cos before I jus sat an kept score or had to play in my fuckin underwear if pervy Johnson was teachin us.
I get changed an check my hair an walk back out with a big swagger and see Jay Johnson doin some dickhead high fivin—loser—an Steven Deans swingin his waist round real weird like he’s fuckin the mornin air—loser—an Billy Lopez reachin down touchin his toes his dumbass floppy hair goin in his eyes. Biggest loser of all.
Damn its easy to write like this when its just all the stupid shit you did an saw spillin out. But fuck I jus heard pa comin in an there ain’t no way I want him seein all this. In fact I don want anyone seein this even Doc says he don’t needa see it I just gotta write it down every damn night like that’s gonna happen but I’ll try. Write bout everythin he said—that’s why I just wrote all that crap bout walkin to school—but then I got all suspicious an said for the billionth time I don need any fuckin help from him or from a goddamn diary an he smiled that way that pisses me off sometimes like I’m a dumbass kid and he knows every fuckin thing ever. Well Doc—would a little kid be doin what I’ll be doin later? No? I didn’t think so. Tonights a Tuesday an I don’t think many folks’ll be out but damn that’s pa comin up now to see why I ain’t eatin the shit that ma’s slaved over the microwave all day to make. Where the fuck to hide a goddam diary tho?
How to cite: McKay, Stewart. “The Ballad of Billy Lopez: An Excerpt.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 16 Mar. 2025, chajournal.blog/2025/03/16/ballad-excerpt.
Stewart McKay is a British-born writer based in Hong Kong. He graduated from the University of Stirling in 2007 with an honours degree in English Literature and History. After living in Thailand, he moved to Hong Kong in 2012, working as an ESL teacher, tutor, and examiner. An active member of the Hong Kong Writers Circle, he has contributed to several of their anthologies and edited HK24 (2017) and Lost in Transition (2023). His flash fiction and short stories have appeared in Grindstone Literary, Raconteur, Fiction Factory, and Free Flash Fiction, with several pieces shortlisted for literary prizes. His debut novel, The Ballad of Billy Lopez, was a finalist for the 2023 Proverse Prize. McKay’s fiction explores the complexities of human nature—its desires, contradictions, and failings. While he believes literature should interrogate the human condition, he insists it must also entertain. A dark seam of humour often runs through his work, which spans sexuality, aging, speculative futures, and post-apocalyptic nightmares. [All contributions by Stewart McKay.]
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