Want a pint with that?

Robbie.
He manages to make the Forty Foot look like a bar. 
I reflected that a settling pint of Guinness in front of him, on the counter where he was comfortably leaning, wouldn't have looked out of place. 
Robbie is here every evening. He smokes. He slags his mates. He lets out a phlegmy laugh. He smokes. He fires a phlegmy cough. He smokes. He laughs some more. He finds another mate to slag. He smokes.

Sometimes he swims too.