“Atomic City isn’t exactly on the edge of the world,” Dwain Payne jokes, “but you can throw a beer can over it from here.” Seated on the corner stool of the bar he owns with Patsy, his wife of two years, he looks every inch the western barkeep. Wearing his ten-gallon straw hat, white hair peeking out the edges, a thick white mustache obscuring his grin, clad in blue western style shirt and jeans, he chats with my husband Jim and me about life in Atomic City. Continue reading →