The bleak Winter wind bit deeply into the thin fabric of the old man’s coat.
His feet, clad only in years-old trainers, were no match for Winters icy fingers, and he could feel his circulation beginning to slow.
His inborn instinct told him that he must get out of this killing wind, but where was he to go, for he had no home of his own?
He had already been ousted from the warmth of the railway station waiting room, and from the bus station. He was desperate for some place where he could sit, warm and undisturbed.
The street ahead was long and almost deserted of people. Cars sped past, their passengers sat snugly on their seats with their heaters going full blast, pumping out their life-sustaining warmth.
In spite of his predicament Sammy smiled to himself.
This was a far-cry from the years when had his wife by his side in their bungalow, the place alive with lights and decorations. Life seemed so idyllic in those days, but when the cancer had taken his wife from his side Sammy was beside himself with grief.
He had packed a small holdall and drifted aimlessly from city to city until finally his money had ran out.
Now he spent him time gazing in the windows of the big department stores, never really seeing the things displayed there, only the reflections of his dear wife and her smile. How he wished that it had been he who had died and not her.
The store was about to close and the staff were leaving for their homes.
They scurried past Sammy, their heads bent low, into the biting wind.
Reluctantly he wended his way up the long brightly-lit street.
He was desperate for a place of shelter, but none was to be found here in this cold heartless city.
He huddled in the shelter of a deep bank doorway, and as he begin to recover his thoughts, an idea came into his head.
He delved deeply into his holdall and finally found that which he sought, an old rusted screwdriver.
He was neither a fool nor a thief, but he felt he had found a way to free himself of his problems, albeit temporarily.
He waited until a group of young people were passing and he gently inserted the screwdriver into the door-lock of the bank.
He noted, with pleasure, one of the young girls taking out her mobile phone.
There was no doubt in Sammy’s mind that she was calling the police.
Within minutes a police car screeched to a halt at the kerbside.
Two officers leapt out of the car, and each smiled at the other when they saw who the “bank-robber” was.
“Hello Sammy, what’s going on here then?” the younger one laughingly asked.
“Oh, just a bit on bank-robbing, you know how it is,” mumbled Sammy in reply.
“Well, let’s be having the cuffs on you me’lad,” he laughed, and Sammy was handcuffed and placed in the police car.
He was whisked to the police station and the desk sergeant officially charged him with “Loitering with intent to rob.”
The whole station were highly amused at the scene taking place before them.
Sammy was placed in a warm, well-lit cell and a hot meal was placed before him.
He gratefully wolfed down the meal, and kicking off his well-worn trainers, he lay down on the single bed and pulled the blanket over him.
Back at the desk the officers were discussing Sammy’s situation amongst themselves.
The desk sergeant tore up the charge sheet and told the others that they would keep him in the cell until the weather abated.
In the background they could hear the contented snores of Sammy filtering down the long corridor.