Beneath the grieving widow’s watch, a decent description for Widow’s Peak.  A rocky cliffside along the shores where one could look out to sea wishing to see their loved one returning.  Many have been lost to the sea in the past, thus the peak being known for the grieving widows waiting for their lost husbands.  I had since closed the restaurant, changed into something less recognizable, out of the white button-down, black pants, and apron, and into a plain grey shirt, jeans, boots, and black leather coat.  The wind was whipping wildly and I was grateful that I had my hair cut short recently.  I was also grateful that the tide was still low, when it rises, any trace of my being here will be washed away.  As it should be.  “My boy!  Good to see you again.”&n...

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