Tucked away in a part of the country that maps like to forget, Riverton is a town that refuses to change—not out of stubbornness, but because no one’s gotten around to it yet. Take a stroll down Main Street, where "For Sale" signs outnumber open doors, and memories linger longer than businesses. Grab the best onion rings for miles at Calypso’s Diner, the last heartbeat of a place that’s content to stay still. Riverton may not be booming, but it’s honest. No frills, no fuss — a quiet town with a past it can’t quite let go of. Whether you’re passing through or looking to disappear, Riverton will be right here. Just like always. 

Downtown 

Most stores are closed or abandoned, despite the aesthetic upkeep by the city council. Many have fond memories at Redford Records, or the local cafe. 

Halloway Pawn

What remains of the Halloway Family. Riverton natives who survived on taking ownership of the unwanted treasures left by emigrants from the town. Currently ran by Marshall Halloway.

Riverbed Tavern

Almost untouched by the years, it leans into its age, creaking floors and faded walls holding stories of decades past. August Combs tends to it, a reluctant heir, keeping the lights on because no one else will.   

Calypso's Diner

The air smells of coffee, grease, and something sweet that lingers no matter the hour. Nearly everyone in Riverton has worked there at some point. A few never leave. Ran by Calypso for as long as anyone can remember.