The fog rolls up and back, harbor lights twinkling in the wake. It must be strange business, whatever the reason, a girl alone on the docks. She nods by way of an answer at first, cigarette pressed to her lips, then offers "Stood up, blind date. Place was beat anyway." Sheltered somewhat from the brunt of the arctic winds, the whistling in the eaves is enough to distract conversation for minutes at a time "You?"