Cul-de-Sac

I fucking hate living here. Everything looks the same. And I mean, the SAME. All these damn cookie cutter houses, the same colors, the same landscaping company, the same everything. This is the twelfth time I’ve gotten lost trying to get home and I’ve been unfortunate enough to live here for over a year now. This alone is aggravating, but for some reason the smaller than standard “Stop” signs are making my blood boil. The street signs are all non-existent, but they made sure to use a good portion of my homeowner association fees to buy hundreds of these kitschy wooden “Stop” signs for every bloody intersection. Let’s not paint the houses something other than Beaver Cleaver pastel blue, let’s not have a reliable cell tower nearby so my GPS can actually get me home in this nightmare maze of suburban hell. None of that. But these tiny “Stop” signs are all over the place. It makes the speed limit signs laughable. Oh yeah, we have those on every road despite that there’s a “Stop” sign every fifty yards.

Sigh.

Okay, this is new. I could have sworn this was another one of those blasted “Stop” signs, but it’s a green, “Go” sign. Same size, same shape, but painted green and the word, “Go” printed in the same text. I crawl to a snail’s pace and look around. There’s no one else around, no rent-a-cops hiding anywhere and the road ahead of me is straight. I hit the gas and see how fast I can go.

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