During the day, the quay is bustling with typical activity of a port: burly longshoremen carry crates and roll barrels away from ships for storage and sailors who still have their sea-legs saunter past on their way to drink and more adventures. By night, the quay is teeming with unsavory characters: men who are hardly men any more after losing their way through drink and gambling hunker amongst coils of rope stiffened by the salt water while rats scramble from box to box gnawing their way into the goods contained inside.
Quay, Port
rat
drunkard
I am the local drunkard. I spend my time consuming alcohol at the local pub. I am often seen stumbling through the streets of the village in a drunken haze.
Hey there, rat.  What's new? Just looking for some crumbs to enjoy, myself. *hic!*...hold up...you talk?  *looks around* Indeed I do! I'm still but a rat though *squeak squeak* *still looking around nervously*  Do you talk to everyone?   Only those that don't seem like they're going to stomp me, sir. I've..."talked" to a lot of your brethren over the years, and you're the first one that's talked back.  Or I'm drunker than even my usual standard.  Not sure which...yet... Most talk, they just don't reveal themselves to close minded humans very often. Nothing opens your mind like a good bottle of whisky!  Been doing it for years!   I've noticed that drunkards are either ruthless or kind, you seem friendly to me though. And don't worry, it isn't the liquor. Thanks, mate.  *hic*  To be fair, it *was* a good bottle of whisky tonight. It does seem like it, looks like an expensive bottle.