Barrie

Barrie is 26, and looks 30. He has spent a total of 3.5 years in the hostel -- in and out -- a month and a half into his current stay. He wears holey sweatpants and t-shirts, and sometimes an old green fishing vest when there is a freezing rain. His light brown hair is longer than most of his Irish compatriots, (although this isn't saying much,) and it is almost always unkempt and windblown. He has run marathons in his earlier days, but now he has taken to walking, and averages 15 miles a day. His walk is very quick, and carries a high, lively bounce. He reads many books, and has a sharp and extremely quick wit. Right now he flips burgers at SuperMacs. He has been a cabinetmaker, and a factory worker, and dozens of other jobs. A jack of all simple trades. He could do better, but I don't think he cares. He has been called the nicest man in Ireland, and I believe this may be close to the truth. I have never heard an unpleasant word leave his lips, and he is patient and jovial with anyone he meets. He teases and flirts with every girl he can, and they don't slap or ignore him because realize his harmlessness. He is an alcoholic for 10 months of the year, and when in season puts down 20 pints of Guinness in an evening. He takes November and December off from drinking, although he had 4 pints on Friday, and says its my fault. He sits on his barstool and rests his crossed arms on the bar; relaxed. He doesn't care what he looks like, and no one else that matters does either. He taught me by example the real meaning of the Craic and the Irish pub.