“Let’s go home.”“Don’t you want to see a reenactment of a gunfight in a saloon? Or an underground tour of the old silver mines? We could rid... a stagecoach or get an old fashioned photograph of us in period costumes at Madame Mustache. Or would you rather grab an Italian gelato ice cream cone?”“Italian? Jeesh! This place is a tourist trap! It’s tacky! I vote we go home.”“It’s only eleven-thirty and there’s so much still to see.”Rachael grabbed my hand and tugged me back towards the parking lot.. "It might be foggy out there, It always sounds louder to me when it's foggy. You want to look?"Her hand tugged mine until both of us were running over to the window like a pair of Christmas children waiting for Santa Claus to come. The view from my window was nothing more than the blurry light from our walkway lamp. A thick blanket of fog had covered our little world reminding me of a snowstorm as I watched the mist swirl around. Sometimes I would get up at night and go out when it was snowing.. More

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