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bedroom flat by negative equity. His only companion was Lulu, a French poodle, named after the television star and pop Diva. He had never been married, never been in a steady relationship with a woman, but he didn’t think that he was gay either. Byron enjoyed his own company, and didn’t really have any sexual urges. His life was simple but happy. He had inherited the proceeds from the sale of his mother`s house, when she died. She had spent the last few years of her life in a nursing home, wasting away while senility took her brain and her memories from her. Byron spent the money on his humble apartment, where he enjoyed life`s simple things.

     At least it had been simple, until last week. It wasn’t simple anymore. Byron had stumbled across a group of Asian youths, attacking a young fat boy. They were like a pack of animals, kicking the prone body. His dog, Lulu, had gone mad barking and pulling at the lead. Byron was the last man to get involved in someone else`s business, but he had tried to intervene, he couldn’t walk past. There was so much blood that he thought they`d killed the boy. He called the emergency services from a phone box. As they dispersed, the Asian youths had given him some verbal abuse, `faggot`, `dirty queer`, and a couple of `bummer` references, probably because he was walking a poodle in the park. He thought that Lulu may have bitten one of them on the leg, but he couldn’t be sure. When Byron called the emergency services, and reported the incident; the police and an ambulance arrived, and before he knew what was going on, he was making a statement describing the attackers, without considering the consequences. Since then things became weird. `Queer` had been daubed on his front door in yellow paint. A brick smashed his front window, and when he walked the dog, he felt as if someone was following him. Lulu wouldn’t settle at all, either on the lead, or at home. She seemed to sense danger was close by. As he walked around the park, he was mulling it all over in his mind when a voice called out.

     “Bummer!” a voice shouted out of the darkness, deep in the park. Byron could hear people laughing, but he couldn’t see them.

    “Queer boy!” echoed across the park. Byron couldn’t be certain that the abuse was aimed directly at him, but he had a gut feeling that it was. He walked a step quicker, but he could hear chattering voices and sniggering keeping pace with him from the darkness, behind the tree line.

    “Nice poodle, you big puff!”

    “Arse bandit,” this time the insult was hurled from the opposite side of the road. Byron turned and looked for his abuser, but there was no one in sight. The insulting references to his poodle left him with no doubt that he was the target of the abuse. He immediately made the connection with the Asian youths that he had encountered the week before, and the resulting police investigation. `They couldn’t know that he had given a statement, could they?` he thought. 

      “Don`t bend down, when Byron is around, or you might get a penis up your arse!” several voices sang in unison. His abusers adapted a song from the football terraces of the day, especially for him. Shadows moved against the darkness, just out of his range of sight. The voices belonged to young, teenagers.

      Byron shivered. They knew his name. The police assured him that his identity would be kept secret, obviously not. He was a half-mile from home, and the pavements well lit all the way. `There is nothing to be frightened of`, he told himself.

      “You`re dead, faggot!” another voice shouted. This time the abuse came from the opposite side of the road. There was a grassed area parallel to the pavement, planted with thick rhododendron bushes. Someone was hiding behind them, he could hear them rustling.

      “I`ll call the police as soon as I get home, you don’t frighten me,” Byron tried to sound assertive, but he did not. His voice was reedy, almost camp.