I’ve always had time for Boggy, although he is not always here. I have no idea where he lives. All I know is that he sometimes turns up here at lunchtime. When I see him, I’ll offer him lunch but he’s never bothered. There’s something odd about Boggy.

He’s always scruffy, but never a real mess. Not dirty, just a scruff. Usually he sports a corduroy jacket, sometimes an old anorak. A parka, I think they’re called. All olive drab and fur trimmed hood. Jeans, he always wears jeans and a serious pair of boots. Black and faded to match the curly locks that hang over his collar.

One interesting thing about Boggy is that he seems to know everything. Many times I’ve taken my paper down to have the crossword completed. If I need to know something, I ask Boggy.

I’ve always had time for Boggy, but he never seems to have time for anybody else. He won’t ever stick around to meet my friends. If I stop to natter to someone, he’s gone before I turn back. He never leaves the alley, and never climbs off the top of his box.