A huddle on the greasy street – cars stop, nose past, withdraw – dull glint on soles of tackety boots, frayed rough blue trousers, nondescript coat stretching back, head supported in strangers’ arms, a crowd collecting – ‘Whit’s wrang?’ ‘Can ye see’m?’ ‘An auld fella, he’s had it.’ On one side, a young mother in a headscarf is kneeling to comfort him, her three-year-old son stands puzzled, touching her coat, her shopping bag spills its packages that people look at as they loo