He sighed, "Well, it just happened 2 months ago, when she died. She and I had been coming home from her friends house, when a mugger took her at gun point. He held her in his arms, screaming 'Give me your money, or she dies!' So, I did the most logical thing, I gave him the money, but when I did, he shot my wife then ran. Days later, I found the man walking down the street, and hit him out of pure rage and began to beat him senseless. When my boss heard about the incident, he told me to quit before he had to fire me. So, now I'm here, a distant and lonely traveler..." Running his hand through his hair he sighed again. "My life has gone downhill ever since, and considering that I sold my house to get away from bad memories, I am in need of shelter and a job, so I thought I would take up one in this tavern. Yet seeing as I'm a fancy cook rather then one who serves for blokes like that..." he pointed to the drunk swinging his knife at another man, "....I don't see how I'm going to fit in."