Duke Street

In a doorway in Leith, shells upon shells upon shells hang, suspended by strong strings for no apparent reason or function. On the ground in the recessed access point, further shells, un-pierced, lie awaiting their potential suspense filled date with restricted airborne animation.

Like a comforting mobile for auld sea dogs, back in the now defunct East coast Port, regressing, perhaps to childhood, remembering finer, simpler days.

I doubt there's any other plausible explanation.