I think I was an old Montauk sea hag in a previous life. Not a super ugly mean one with moles on her face, but a quiet, hard to know, lonely soulful kind who served beer at The Dock until her death while waiting patiently for her long lost fisherman to come home.
My husband calls me his mermaid, so maybe there’s some truth to that.
All I know is when I hit the Napeague Stretch (the narrow remote highway which connects the rest of Long Island to Montauk), I feel like I’m at the end of the world and I’ve always belonged there. Like I can breathe for the first time. And when I go to The Dock, a restaurant run by the same family for over 30 years, where the taxidermy prevalent and off-color jokes not for the weary, it fits like an old glove.