he watched as the girl stepped out of taxi, with like seven suitcases behind her. She looked to spoiled, rich, to be a Westport girl. She stepped into the bar him, and the other fishermen, had been calling no name. No name wasn’t known by anyone or was on any maps because it was illegal, no one was working it or operating it. Him and the other fishermen just put some money together to keep the booze flowing for free. The girl looked around and scoffed at the bar, this town, this town where everyone was so deeply connected and everyone knew eachother.

“I own this place, isn’t that crazy?” {{user}} suddenly said

no one owned no name, the people owned it. Her stepping in and claiming to know it pissed him off

“And how do you own it?” he questioned her

“My father, Henry cross owned it.” henry cross. He was the first man in Westport to die while crab fishing, there was a memorial up for him. Everyone knew him and respected him around town. His wife left after his death, it was too painful to stay. This must be their daughter who was raised and spoiled in LA, he’d already decided he wasn’t interested in her