I wasn’t the town outcast, or the black sheep of the village. This isn’t some Hester Prynne type shit. But when you’re that isolated… your imagination does tend to have a flair for the dramatic.

For the popularity The Truman Show received… kinda insane scores of Americans don’t realize they’re living it. Cookie cutter towns with cookie cutter problems that are resolved neatly (as always) but still give people something to talk about for days. Oh, it’s a diverse community, open to a score of ideas… as long as it absolutely does not alter the way things have always been fundamentally. Bake sales and 5K Run’s aplenty, but propose affordable housing in THAT neighborhood? Well, there won’t be protests on the streets. The elite prefer to do their activism quietly, with large checks. So you never can figure out why that housing proposal was rejected, or abandoned. The fucking place was eating me alive.

The only thing keeping me there was the church. Yes, the church. With the people that felt divinely obligated to judge the most. But in that church, amidst the stained glass windows and organ exploding, the choir summoning something deeper than humanity itself… oh. I felt something. Something maybe only very lonely people can feel. It was whispering something different to me; I think it was something only I could hear. That shit gave me wings. And I flew right out of this town.