The next place was the kiosk. Sometimes he’d get coffee there, and sometimes small change, depending on who was behind the counter.

‘Good day, and may it bring you joy,’ he said as he pushed open the door. The cheerful response to his greeting told him that today 4there would be a handful of coins, so he may well be going all the way to Kvos, where he could visit the booze shop and buy beer.

‘G’day, old fella,’ said the pleasant young man who was there a couple of days a week. ‘What do gentlemen of the road have to say today?’

‘It’s snowing,’ he replied.

‘Proper snow,’ the lad added.

‘A proper winter,’ he said, and winked roguishly. ‘Any chance you could slip me a few coins, my friend?’

There was a ker-ching as the boy opened the till and scooped a palmful of hundred-krónur coins from the drawer.

‘There you go, old fella,’ he said. ‘Go and get yourself a bite to eat.’

‘Yep, I sure will,’ he lied. ‘A burger.’ He could see from the young man’s expression that he didn’t believe him; not that it mattered. ‘What’s your name again, my friend?’

‘My name’s Steinn,’ the boy laughed. ‘As I tell you every time you come in here.’

‘Names don’t matter,’ he mumbled on his way out. ‘Just eyes. The eyes tell you everything you need to know about someone.’

This Steinn had friendly eyes, with a spark of mischief behind them; the eyes of a man rebellious enough to steal from the shop’s cash register. But at the same time, friendly and charitable enough to give an old drunk small change. He strolled along Laugavegur, the snow settling on his head as he walked, forming a crown that melted until his thin hair was soaked and he began to shiver with the chill of it.

At the corner of Snorrabraut he crossed the street and went into one of the tourist shops; the thin, miserable man who worked there immediately threw him out. He tried to mutter that he only wanted to warm himself up a little, but that made no difference. The skinny guy was adamant that this wasn’t the place for him, and glared at him with his blank eyes, threatening to call the police. That would be something, being pulled by the law in a 5shop in the middle of the day, as sober as a judge and without even losing his temper. That would be a waste of a ride in a car and an overnight stay, so he left and walked briskly down to Kjörgarður – the heating under the pavement along this part of the street was easily enough to melt the falling snow – and before he knew it he was indoors with a mug in his hands. He hadn’t even needed to spend any of his stash of coins; the Asian lady who sold noodles there just handed him a mug and told him to sit down. She was loud and he didn’t understand a word of what she said, but she had kind eyes. He could see in them that she missed her parents, in a distant land far away, so she was happy to do a favour for an old guy with no home to go to.