Drip. Drip, the sink’s facet is broken again. The dang thing is just old and broke like the rest of this place. The counter on the bar is stained, grimy, chipped and worn out. Marks, dents, dirt, and aging are common in all the woodwork in the small bar. The wooden floors have been beaten and trampled under many feet over and over again, going to hell and back and never being replaced. The shelf-life of a floor like this is about ten years, but these God-forsaken wooden boards are about twenty years overdue. Nothing ever changes in this bar. No matter how much they want to change this place and make it better, it will never happen. Not that there is no money; what’s the point? Who do we need to impress? We never get any new customers. It’s the same day in and day out.

The sun rises on another pointless, mundane day. Outside the temperature drops to match the icy feeling within. The sun comes every day but the ground does not always absorb the heat. The ground is covered and stays hidden under a blanket of snow, rolling over and hiding from the world outside. As long as it is cold, no one is outside. The roads do not get plowed, because again, what is the point? Plow the roads for the grand total of zero people that use them? The snow falls with the sun in the sky, proof that the sun cannot make everything hot, because we are freezing.

Fair Oaks is a small town; not many people live here and more and more move away. The snow is building up all around us. Look, we used to be a happy quaint little place. After a few unfortunate events, we became lost in this blizzard. The snow is so thick that sometimes one cannot see two feet in front of his face as the individual snowflakes pierce and string his eyes. When the saw mill closed, we still had hope. The tourism business was in full swing. As a town we were going to make it. Our beautiful view of the waterfall is breath-taking. Shortly after the mill closing down, Monica’s burnt to a crisp and tumbled. The best restaurant in town, the one every writes home about. The business started to dry up as the Hensons moved away and Janet closed her diner. You see, the Henson family owned all the inns and hotels in town. They were the richest folks in Fair Oaks. But once the tourists stopped coming, they up and left. Once they left the tourists, or what was left of the tourists, had no place to stay. With no place the stay they stopped coming, and once they stopped coming Janet had no one to feed so she closed her doors and moved west.

That waterfall was our main attraction. The water falls into an underground cave. The cave is shiny once you shine a light down there. Crystals are on the walls of the cave and they light all pretty when a flash light comes down there. But the cold got to it. The waterfall stopped flowing, frozen solid. Who wants to see a frozen waterfall? George Keens and his family moved once people stopped looking at the cave. He gave tours of the cave for a living. No tourists, no tours, no tours means no money, and no money means no George, because kids have got to eat. With all these people moving away, the grocery store closed up. Then the clothing store, and just about everything in town except the bar.

This tavern has been kept open for the hard times. First, it was a great place to let off some steam with the occasional drink. When times were good this place was not really needed, but as times got worse it became the only spot that made money. A lot of people came in and walked on those old wooden floors. The stage in the back has a microphone for the speakers. Once a week the comedian came in to tell a few jokes and get the crowd happy. He’s been working here longer than I have. He just finished another great show. You see, as times got bad, he was the one that made people laugh and forget about their problems for a minute or two. He is really funny and a happy guy, always smiling and laughing, even in this town. It always amazes me how fast this place clears out when it stops serving alcohol.

“One more,” the comedian asked me to pour him a drink. These glasses do not even need to be cleaned, yet it just feels right at closing time. The solid heavy glass cups are chipped, old and worn like this building.

“Sure.” Last pour of the night goes to the comedian. He comes to the bar after his shows to crack jokes and make people laugh on the way out. But the crowd was small today, the smallest it has ever been. The dark brown liquid went right down his throat.

“Well, bar-keep, I've got to get moving. That was my last show.”

“Last show?” Say it isn't so! He’s whole reason certain people have not skipped town.

“Afraid so. A group of us are heading west to look for a better life. You're welcome to join us.” He stood, flipped me a quarter, took his hat and left. Just like that. A quarter? What is this, the fifties? Cheap-o comedian. One more wipe-down of the counter and I’m done for the night.

“Mr. Greene, do you want me to lock up?” No answer. The old man probably dozed off in his office again. “Mr. Greene.” The knot on this apron is particularly tight today. “Mr. Greene!” Still no answer. How heavy is this nap? With a knock and no answer, time to open the door to find Mr. Greene, frozen solid. The cold got to him, pale as a ghost and not moving. Guess I get to lock up.

The next morning, the group left and went west. The bitter cold stayed. The town was completely empty. Fair Oaks was beaten. How much more could we take? One thing after another. Tragedy met with tragedy. The waterfall frozen solid, the stores closed, some burnt down, others just left and some just died. The boards were loose enough for me to see through and see the underground cave and the frozen waterfall. I come to the mouth of the waterfall and closed my eyes. Until... I hear a sound from the cave: drip, drip.