There's one for every cannonball

Sometimes, it's all Nu Dublin; Chinese howeyehs having a laugh on the Luas in from Tallaght, Nigerian fellas arguing about the quality of their rows outside the barber shop, picking up some Polish ricotta with your Irish Times of a Saturday morning.

Other times, it's just Dublin, where you spot a hooker from your neighbourhood as she walks along the quays. This evening, she stopped outside the Franciscan church, blessed herself, took a miraculous medal on a piece of string out of her pocket and slipped it over her head. As she went in, a short, tubby man with a rope around his waist turned and smiled.

She walked into the pews and the berobed lot went about their business. 

I headed home and saw a pair of swans with seven signets land in the Liffey.