It was as though we had fallen into a sinkhole of time. This clapboard and stucco town caught my heart as soon as I stepped into the tavern and saw the tiny stage set for melodrama and mayhem. The moneyed wallpaper, signed with notes from well-wishers from around the world, framed a bar layered with the smoke and dust of time.
A burly-bearded watchdog extended a cautious greeting as we walked into the saloon. Heads turned and the soft chatter ceased as we walked past each table - artists, con men, seekers of sanctuary... these were the faces staring back out of the dim light. Even the local canines sniffed cautiously before accepting a friendly ruffling of scruffy heads.
Hundreds had visited this hamlet with doors that shouted its history and demise.
One solitary road ambled through, beckoning the traveler to wander off onto dirt paths and rocky gutted trails. Shop windows blinked and stared blankly through eccentricities and closed signs. Locals stretched lazily on the steps or lingered in the dirt streets. The center cafe was silent as shaggy dogs with shaggy children played in the empty lot next door.
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