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In midwinter at 5am you avoid walking barefoot on the grass unless it is outweighed by another discomfort. The hero in this story finds himself in a similar situation of cold dilemma. Our slightly simple character sleeps on a billiard table in the garage of an abandoned house. In an effort to keep warm he beds under stolen rooftiles and sticks that he steals from neighbourhood yards.
Awakened by the early hours chill our slippery friend shys through the suburban exteriors, dodging headlights, pretending invisible. In pursuit of a 'warm' cat he falls into a back yard haven, panting and left alone with a hills hoist pegged with underwear, he discovers warmth. Now with a purpose, the hero evolves; a good sleep, a goal, and a sense of achievement all assist in his confidence building. He is becoming proficient in his methods of acquiring warmth. His unusual, yet innocent tactics are however mistaken by his victims for perverse actions. Yet his actions give them all a motivation for personal excitement. We hear a voice! Enter the press-man into the loungeroom of a victim. She's building a story for the morning paper. It was only a matter of time before someone saw the "sick little perverted man with a greasy tuft of unwashed hair...just sort of, stuck on his head". The press-man loves it; it has mystery, it has intrigue, and a certain bizarre twist that sells papers. Our anonymous hero now has a name, he hits the front pages as "The Diamond Cutter".