Uxbridge

One day while walking downtown, a yellow paper had blown against my shoe. Thinking that it had gone through so much trouble to find me, i picked it up and brought it home. After finding it crumpled in my pocket, I read it and saw that the town was looking for a parade commissioner.

I toyed with the idea of marching to the city offices and applying. It said that experience in town management was required, but I was quite certain that I could use my lust for everything to my advantage, and convince the city clerk that I was the right man for the job. Late at night, when my friends and I all sat around laughing and talking, out of our minds as the weather slowly changed around us, this seemed like an especially good idea. But when the mornings would come, all anonymous hope would fade with the night, leaving uncertainty and insecurity in everything which I hoped to attain.

The bleakness was painted on the mills and grew on the trees. The cracks in the sidewalks sprouted little green bulbs of sadness. And under a rusting steel bridge caked with spider webs, a polluted river flowed with all that could have been, heading south back down towards the city where this whole mess began and inspired me to hide in the saddest place I've ever lived, thinking I could use the peace and quiet. When in reality, all the peace and quiet was killing me, making me feel old and useless, as though I was missing great things going on some place where people were actually living and smiling.

Now, of course, I know this is all just delusional silliness. Coast to coast, it is all the same. There are no places on this land where people are enjoying themselves and smiling all day. The American dream was just hype, happiness could not really be achieved. But I was young and wanted to run. So I packed up everything I loved except my cat into my blue little car, and headed west.

Regards, Esortnom