‘Like on a railing?’

‘No, like a shelter for homeless men. Years ago when the drink had a grip, I went down the shitter and ended up in Gordon Road. Not just once either. Well, if you’d been living rough, they de-loused you.’

He paused to sip the tea and Lisa said, ‘How awful.’

‘’Twas that and all. Then they gave you a white boiler suit. God in heaven, the mortification! You stood shivering in them white suits and everyone knew you’d been sprayed.’

‘Was it dangerous?’

‘Compared to what? You tied yer shoes round yer neck while you slept, if such a thing could be had among a multitude of farting roaring men. But the smell… ah… now there’s a memory.’

‘Of urine… and… things?’

‘That… sure, but I meant the other. The very smell of desperation, of lost men in a lost place.’

I’d heard this yarn before so figured I’d shower. It’s not a story you like better through repetition. As I shaved, I could hear his soft brogue.

‘There was a fella there… Grogan. He gave viciousness a bad name, he’d steal the eye outa yer head and blame you. Men hold on to any shred of individuality… anything to mark you from the horde. His trademark was his boots, the old Doc Martens. One night in February, a cold bastard of a Friday, I heard him thrashing. Nothing unusual in that but I looked up anyway and saw two fellas moving away from his bunk.’

Lisa gave an excited cry.

‘They were stealing his shoes?’

‘They’d tried but the bastard had sea-manned the laces, merchant navy knots, and they’d strangled him.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Yeah… but I got them loose.’

‘You saved his life.’

‘No, I saved his boots.’

Lisa left shortly after and the Doc said, ‘You could do worse, in fact you’ve frequently done worse.’

‘Thanks. So what do you reckon on this Cassie lunatic?’