After a bit of a walk , you find yourself in standing in front of a rusty street sign half-heartedly telling you that this is Firehouse Street. Your view is brightened by some poorly painted streetlights. A perfectly ordinary main street in a perfectly ordinary town. Oh well. It could be worse, you think. At least there is a town. This small display of naive optimism doesn't quite brighten your mood, but you decide to walk the street a bit nonetheless. [Ha. As if you had anything better to do... Your car is broken, remember?]

Firehouse Street isn�t exactly bustling with people, but nothing else could really be expected. Small town folk usually do tend to turn in early, you muse. You do note, to Missing Mile�s credit, that there are a few stragglers wandering about. Up ahead and to your right you notice a solitary girl sitting under a streetlight; to your left in front of the local hardware store sit a couple withered, old men playing checkers with rusty bottlecaps. On their faces are expressions typical of old men- something in between wisdom, senility, and bitterness. They seem innocuous enough. You turn and walk towards them.

Things just ain�t the way they used to be! Strange people come wanderin� through Missin� Mile, and I just can�t think what to make of it! Sumthin� strange is goin� on �round here; I can feel it in m� tired bones...

He looks up at you after moving his bottle cap and completing his monologue. A harried look crosses his face- you�re one of those strangers he was talking about- but it melts slowly and he manages a sour smile in your direction.

And who might you be? No matter tellin� me.. I�ll forget anyways. If it suits your fancy, you could sign the town visitor's register at the court house a few buildings down. Some people do that when pass through... What ya standin� here for anyway? Hopin' to hear some of Granda's gossip, are ya?

He smiles again, this time a little more cheerfully. You can tell that your presence amuses him, most likely because you provide a distraction from the fact that he is losing his checker game. Miserably. You offer a smile in return and continue walking down Firehouse Street.

A large, black van drives noisily by and shines its bright headlights in your eyes whilst you turn to look at it. The side of the van is stamped with a Bauhaus logo, and you can hear Ziggy Stardust as it passes by you. You can also hear some random obscenities being yelled at you. You give a deadly glare to the van�s rear side as it continues down the street and notice its absolutely juvenile bumper stickers.

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You shake your head- you simply aren�t in the mood now- and you cross the street to enter a quaint little record store. �The Whirling Disc.� You smile to yourself and open the door.