Weeping Springs

I didn't stay in the house that first night, as I got so caught up in watching the snuff films I forgot to get a bed and stock the kitchen. I went back to town, which was about ten minutes from the house, a quaint little town in the California desert called Weeping Springs. I got a motel room for that night and ate at a diner called Mo's. The owner, Maureen, was a surly looking woman but was actually quite friendly. Her gray hair was shoved into a bun on her head. Her apron was dirtier than the floor.