My area was boring and good for nothing. Stuck in nowhere, at the rim of everywhere, it was, I used to write in my diary as I tried my literary hand, “A nightmare etched onto reality and then placed on my doorstep.”
The place I lived and its unfortunate modes all over the world are more politely known as The Suburbs. Monochrome and full of monomaniacs, it specialized in engineering souls who would work hard not to say anything out of turn.
Diversity arrived in the form of economics. There were very rich and very poor, both living in tandem, but choosing the suburbs for very different reasons. The rich saw it as a display of their success, most coming from modest starts. The poor were there because they were born there, and their parents were there for the same reason.
I was neither rich or poor and didn’t aspire to be either, although there were plenty of young men who wanted to be both, strangely enough.
I just got on, and moved through everything trying not to get caught up in the contingent bullshit. I was young and wanted not to be distracted by the endless symphony of triviality that seemed be trying to intrude itself on my life.
I realise now how mature that attitude was. All around me there were disputes and buttercup fights.
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