"It’s sunnier here." A black man, his denim jacket open, as was his lumber jack style shirt - he had a red tea-shirt beneath. His boots were beige suede and were unlaced.

He started. The man stood by the rail, dividing pedestrian path from river. His nose was running, he was big and broad, strong looking but he was clearly disheveled.

"What’s that, a map?" The man asked - but he didn‘t wait for an answer. "I went on a drinking spree last night. I feel bad now though. They told me I have to wait until 12 o‘clock to get some more. You wouldn‘t have thought beer would make you feel so bad." There was a pause, and a look on the face of the man that evidenced this statement as if a universal truth. "I’ve been all up there and all down here," he gestured the embankment up and down, "but it seems though 12 o’clock won’t ever come though."

He listened and nodded but didn‘t know how to respond, what the man wanted. What did he want? I don’t know anything about these experiences he thought - why are you telling me. Then, into the natural gap that emerged he said, "I’ve got to be walking on now - just exploring."

The man held the same expression - cold and desperate, the desperation in contrast to his physical presence." Yeah, I hear that though." He said.

He rose to his feet, "Goodbye."

And the man retaining an expression free look, turned to stare out over the river, "Yeah."