“Jesus Christ! Can’t a man get some fucking peace in this place?”
“You need a drink, Mr Minister,” Dave grinned, taking his friend by the elbow and leading him neatly into the haven of the local pub.
“Just because I’m a Church of Scotland Minister, it doesn’t follow that I have to be an alcoholic. Anyway, what have I done that’s so fucking wrong?”
“You’ve just got them talking, that’s all,” Dave laughed, nodding to two old gents who all but made the sign for the evil eye in return.
“About what? My penchant for wearing black and white on a fucking Sunday?”
“No, no, they’re o.k. with your fashion choices. It’s more your walks that bother them.”
Silence. A grimly determined one, spoken with hands shoved deep into coat pockets.
“Aye. They wonder why their minister goes out walking at three in the morning when he has a nice, warm wife at home.”