Red Erikson had spent the majority of his eighteen years in and around the small township of Woolly Butt. Despite his permanent scowl, he liked it there. He’d given the big city a try, for three weeks after he left school, but he couldn’t find a job, couldn’t stand the noise and had nearly been run over by a tram that he wasn’t expecting to be in the middle of the road. So he walked seven kilomet…