I walked past Morellos and saw him again. The quizmaster. Not a mysterious character from Ian rankin novel The Falls [for Rankin read rank - too much TV clichism]. No, an actual quizmaster from Uisge Beatha’s Wednesday quiz. Funny guy. Wears black thick framed glasses, obtrusive hair and his ‘true or false hat’ for the true or false round. Good banter. We didn’t win. Was walking behind a bloke with a perched on head beany, who turned into Dunearn Street. I’ve just been at the mansion watching arsenal v man u highlights. On the way up I trudged up the dark cobbled and slightly threatening [though for no reason] roads of Dowanhill.. Lynz said its not dangerous, but if I were a mugger I’d haunt the area. So was walking paranoidly, jumpy at any sound. A figure darted into a doorway up ahead. I didn’t change my pace. Safer to act like I didn’t see him, but all the time my eyes are pinned on the corner of the doorway, waiting for my line of vision to change and see if the figure lies in wait, caressing plans to stab me, or - yes - he scuttles up the staircase inside the building. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he is more wary of me - we have a mutual suspicion. Eyes ahead again. Where lies the next threat? A dark parked car is drifting past my left side when I notice a hairy face in the window. Dog. Dog can’t be in a car on its own. Even murderers care about their pets in this strange, strange culture. Must be attached to someone. Or something. All this happens in the milliseconds it takes me to pass the window, after which I suddenly clock a floating dimly lit head on a mobile phone. It glances at me. Our eyes meet for less than a moment and exchange quiet zaps of fear. Mutual. Dog clutched safely in car, I proceed. No change in pace.