East side of Taiga River

Another faded day in New Somerset. Clouds hanging as usual, sidewalks empty, the Rite Aid deprived of tourist traffic. Nobody ever went in that store unless it was for a carton of yogurt or cooked yams or something like that. Otherwise you'd probably be a gorilla in disguise or a nonconforming tourist (the latter though, would be more amusing). Taking the route there was uneventful, except with a few sign-raisers the journey was a little more entertaining. I mean, who had the lost dignity to go outside in desolate streets to dance in humid rains wearing a hamburger costume?

    My daily shift started at the postal service building, dank and dark as always. It was miserable, my 9-5, I cannot deny, but if I even if I managed to bring myself outside the weather wouldn't mediate my mood either. I refused SAD meds, braving it out like the rest of East Side residents. Probably others like me engaging in solitary sport: fantasy authors, celtic history fanatics, roleplayers, men who hung hamburger costumes in their closets, pepsi addicts, and mailmen. There hadn't been a use of mailmen here since '88. Guess New Somerset hadn't gotten the message yet. We are 1000 miles away from mainland anyway, so that mail snail is still going.

    I bounded off Main Street where a couple of cars scurried along like eager mice