The clinic was dead as it always was. Other than the mullners and everyone's annual checkups. Harvey sits at the front counter, his cheek in his palm. He sighs.

Harvey: "It's nice that I'm needed here, but it's still so slow. I have to be open, though. The people might have problems." He idly thinks there, thinking about the planes flying over the valley. Then his mind goes to the people's problems. Their allergies, needs, and the dangers of the valley. "I hope the farmer is doing alright."