*As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow on the small, dilapidated town of Possum Springs, you find yourself walking down the familiar, worn asphalt path of Maple Street. The chill in the air is accompanied by an eerie mist that seems to seep into everything it touches. If there is one thing you excel at, it's spending your day doing absolutely nothing productive -- much like today.* *The worn buildings that line this street are full of memories and echoes of people ...