It’s sunny when you work, and it’s cloudy when you have the day off, here in Hell’s Suburb.

There are fees for everything, and especially from banks if you don’t spend enough money.

Hell’s Suburb has every distraction from shopping malls to dry cleaners, bars, restaurants, and movie theaters–everything but strip clubs.  Those are found in Hell proper.

The road signs here are misleading, alluring, even cheerful, beckoning you to Hell’s Suburb. Mostly they point out lane changes between the abundance of orange barrels.

“A” never talks to “B” here. There is much paperwork, there are complications, the necessities are numerous, and expensive. To live in Hell’s Suburb, one needs plenty of insurance in case one should try to live. There is car insurance, life insurance, death, home, health, pet, and, because it’s ironic, vacation insurance. People who don’t take vacations buy it.

The movies are predictable and the surprises have all been used up, long ago, while wIMG_0635e were busy buying our insurance.  The thing is, if you stay distracted, you don’t notice.

We in Hell’s Suburb are surrounded by the undead, non-living, the dull, and some actors. This is not Dante, this is not fire and brimstone. This is bureaucracy, tedium, and lack of forward movement. This is a drone-like slumber.

We grow up listening to the stories of old men telling us that escape from this is impossible, but we are born with the childlike wonder to know we can. We armed ourselves with plastic swords and light sabers and donned our red capes and we knew better than the adults. We’d show them. We would be different.

So we’ll get back to the days before work stole our inspiration, when we believed in ourselves, back to when our worst problem was the monster under the bed, yet every night we went to that bed and we faced that fear and in its wake, we dreamed the dreams of super heroes.

~
My first book, Upside Down Kingdom, is available on Amazon.

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