It's Belfast, 1975, and a 12-year-old boy wearing Brut aftershave has just been appointed paperboy to the Upper Shankill by Oul' Mac.
The smell of Tayto cheese and onion crisps is on his breath, and the aroma of fresh fish suppers and burning double-decker busses is in the air. It is the era of platform shoes and parallel trousers, and Paperboy is taking guitar lessons with Mr Rowing so he can play along to the Bay City Rollers.
Belfast in the seventies is like the newspapers he delivers: everything is black and white, albeit Orange and Green. There are bombings and killings on the evening news, but Paperboy is more interested in Doctor Who and Top of the Pops, bonfires and outer space, and of course, Sharon Burgess.
It is a time of hate and conflict, but Paperboy's only battles are with acne, dentistry and the wee hoods out to rob his paper money. The streets are ruled by the IRA and the UDA, but Paperboy is under the spell of a less threatening acronym: ABBA.
There are secrets at school and dangers on the streets, but Paperboy is happy, so he is. He is a good paperboy. He delivers.