The streets were now the only home he had. He had tried the hostels, but in the confinement of the darkness Betty would come to him. Dreams turned into nightmares and he would be wakened by his own screams. Not surprisingly this tended to upset some of his fellow residents who on occasions sent him back to sleep without the aid of narcotics.

He learned to eke out a meagre living by scavenging abandoned buildings for bits of scrap metal which he could sell on for a few pounds. When times were especially hard, he would visit the rubbish bins of city hotels. You could find food there and sometimes, if your luck was in, there might be a bottle with some wine left in it. A 1976 Chateau Montrose made an agreeable change from the usual gut rot which formed his staple diet.

In more recent years, the streets had become a dangerous place in which to live. Many youngsters were now homeless but were not prepared to try to make the best of their lot. They regarded old winos like Sammy as being easy pickings. Several times he was attacked and robbed of the few coins he had worked so hard to collect. He had no friends. You trust your friends, and trusting people can be dangerous, especially when you are living rough. A man who is desperate for a drink has no respect for or loyalty to someone who may have the means to pay for it.

Among the dosser fraternity, Sammy was known as ‘the coat’. The Crombie was now frayed, tattered and filthy, but Sammy was never to be seen without it. There was only one man with whom he had regular contact called Scar. Scar could easily have been around seventy years old. On the other hand, he could have been forty. His face was savagely disfigured by burns. But Scar was a thinker who was undoubtedly well educated and kept abreast of what was happening in the wider world. He always had newspapers or magazines in his pockets and Sammy was fascinated by his ability to expound upon the economy, the state of the Middle East, the latest EU directive and many other topics which were way above Sammy’s head.

Although Sammy only spoke with Scar occasionally, their paths frequently crossed in the City centre. Scar canvassed the same rubbish bins as Sammy.

Then Scar disappeared.

Sammy had long since given up reading newspapers. The wider world was of little or no interest to him. By chance he saw a copy of the Evening Times which carried a report of an unidentified vagrant being found dead in the River Clyde. He had been stabbed repeatedly before being dumped in the water. The brief description made reference to the deceased man having a face which was badly scarred. The police were appealing for witnesses. Sammy knew it had to be his friend. Murdered.