A small booth near the edge of the port, it's protected by a piece of old, sun-bleached sailcloth. Baskets of freshly-caught fish, bivalves, and eels sit in the shade in stained wooden troughs of water. A small, aggressive-looking dog is chained to one table, presumably to keep cats away. The stall is redolent with the aroma of fish.
Fishmonger's stall, Port
policeman walking a beat
character
We are unpleasant salty characters from a nearby mining village. We spend our wages on alcohol and harass villagers. We are oafish bullies that like to cause trouble.
Which way to the nearest bar! You look like quite the character. I need to see your papers of identification.  I'm fresh from the mine at Haversley, the next town o'r.  I ain't brought no papers. Well, that does have some ring of truth to it. They are very lax about the rules over yonder. Now, about that bar? Mrs. O'Malley runs a little pub 2 streets west of this Fishmonger's stall. But I must warn you. Public drunkenness is not tolerated. What makes you think I'll get drunk?  I could drink anyone in this town under the table, In this city liars get put in the stocks you know ... I will have to make you prove that statement. Shall we put the beer to the test? ... Hey, that's mine! It is not. It's this stall owners, and he owes me ... protection money.