"Ah'll gie ye a hand if ye want. Whit's she look like?"
"Wee, fat 'n dressed in black."
"Scuse me fur sayin, but she'll hiv tae be fair wee 'n no awfy fat tae fit in a litter bin."
"Whit ye mean, litter bin?" God growled at me.
"Weel it may be statin the obvious, but it's a litter bin, ye ken where folk pit their rubbish?"
"Shite! Ma eens useless these days. Ah thot it wus a sin bin."

He started walkin away 'n ah looked at him. Fur somebody so auld, he looked weel. Hardly a day ower 60. No a pick on him eether, but he seemed fit.
Quick like he birls aroon 'n comes back & esks: "Dinnae ken where ah could fin a sin bin dae ye?"
"Try doon the common thon way. There's aw sorts o' bins there by the car park on the harbour side."
After that he thanked me & as he turned away fur the park he says: "Here Jimmy, see when ye're getting yur paper, check that ticket in yur pocket. Noo ah'll see ye, hae tae fin her quick & cheers again."

Sure enough there's a lottery stub in ma pocket, no as if ah cun mind buyin last night so ah makes the shop & hands it ower tae the lassie.
Bugger me bit ah wus a winner!
Aw ae a sudden ah feels like scoopin again.

Thanks God, a whole tenner.