Another hot bright day.
"Ah'm very sorry," A man stops me, "very sorry t' get in your way,"
Drunk, I think, but stop for a minute.
"D'ye know about the yairds that used to be here?"
I say, yeah, a wee bit.
"Well, ah'll tell ye . . " and he continues with a tale of working life in the shipyards and what he did and what he didn't do and what was here and what was there.
All the time I'm thinking this could be quite interesting if he wasn't sloshed. But as it is, there's a fair bit of rambling.
While he talks, I can't take my eyes off his, which are the clearest, brightest blue you ever did see with tiny black pinprick pupils.
"Ah'm sorry if ye think ah'm drunk," he says from time to time, "Ah just have to have a wee bit to help me cope. Ye know, ah lost a' ma weans."
And his face screws up with ready tears. He gulps in a deep intake of breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh.