Archie was cold and hungry. The nearest shelter wasn’t due to open for another few hours, and none of his old acquaintances from the road was out and about, so he found a doorway that hadn’t been used as a toilet yet, sat down in it and wrapped his blanket tightly around him. Archie was a drunkard; he’d been on the streets since he was thirteen. An abusive father and a h****n-addict mother had given him the worst start in life a boy could have, and he had been suffering for it ever since. He was not a violent man, though; he was capable of great kindness if left alone and not bothered. A light went on nearby. It must have been triggered by a wandering feline because there was no one around at this time of the morning. Archie rested his head on his knees and was snoring shortly afterwards.
