Glory of glories, it appears that The Man At The Bus Stop lives on my street. And not just any old place on my street but the house that the police (when I interviewed them for a work project a couple of years ago) dubbed the crack den.

Turned out that they were joking (surely the police don't joke..?) but I still am inclined to embrace the idea that the mild-mannered civil servant is a part-time dealer on the side. His Paisley scarf is just a cunning decoy...