Chicago suburbs

Plinky.com asked me to describe the place I live in as if it were the setting for a book.

[like I haven't done that before]

You know this place.

Open your eyes… You know this place.

You know these neat little boxes, these asphalt red carpets, these manicured green napkin lawns.

Open your eyes… You know this place.

You know these smiles of false camaraderie, these stares like daggers plunging between the shoulder blades of a recently turned back. You know these breezy conversations, all rumour and scare-mongering, he-said-she-said all up and down these perfectly symmetrical blind alleyways.

You leave here every morning in your four-wheeled coffin, just to find it delivering you back in the P.M. like you never had a choice. An endless cycle of futility, racing the rats.

You know this place.

You've seen it before.

Here, it's easier to lose yourself in complicity, to become one of the hive, to say "OK" rather than "I want out NOW!" Easier to escape through the bottom of the upturned bottle, begging the last drips and drops to plummet down into the warmth of your choking throat.

It's easier than opening your eyes.

Because you've seen it before.

You know this place.

Open your eyes.

Powered by Plinky