He’s on a mission as always, taking quick, determined strides with a sense of urgency to a destination known only to him. His year-round uniform; a thick, black fur coat and an oversized ushanka hat leave the stench of stale, unkempt years in an invisible trail behind him. Some of us recognise this familiar local figure but I always catch the looks of confusion on those unaccustomed to his bulky presence as he looms into view. If it’s a balmy summer’s day, there are smirks and curious glances thrown towards his attire so strikingly at odds with the sandal and shorts wearers around him but he appears oblivious and grimaces onwards in a mental maze, his half-mast trousers gently flapping across his ankles. I often wonder what his ‘story’ is. I don’t think he belongs to anyone but as his footprints mark the city, he silently tells me that the streets belong to him.