When combination locks were installed in the winter in all the entrances to this enormous housing block, and you had to know and remember your pin number, the drunks would be wailing at night, banging on the unyielding entrance door, freezing to death, “Help! Open the door!” One time he did go down and open the outside door to one such perfectly decent little chap who had just had a few drinks too many. It was not out of compassion, but because this had become a curse, being woken up every night by yelling and screaming because someone was drunk and there was no other way to stop it. When the man got into the warm, not even into his apartment, just into his own warm entrance, he burst into tears. He wept, and hugged him, and was shaking, not the way you might expect if someone was freezing
