He scavenged the parts for his new body from all around the alleys and back streets. A discarded umbrella pulled from a bin made for an arm, its crook a hand. A length of rusting drainpipe and a rotting timber almost the same length made a workable pair of legs. A black plastic rubbish sack, its soiled cartons and rotting fruit for internal organs, would be his torso. A crumpled orange traffic-cone would do for his other arm and a punctured football his head. It all made for a poor, broken body but at least, when it was dark, he could walk the streets again and imagine he was still alive.