Cell

From Wikipedia, Author: Marekich

Victorian houses, grain mills, groceries, graveyards.

Small town towns are a nuclei; everything surrounding nothing—or vice-versa. It always starts with a cornfield.

I could be the mystery driver rolling in. I could stop at their diner or their cafe or their post office. I could say a word. Those faces would look, try to recognize, try to categorize. They'd wave, or smile. Or do nothing.

They have their own government, dogma, karma. They have their lovers and preachers. The lover to rush them through boredom, the preacher to dispel their sins.

The road cuts straight through; you must not stay. If you were not born or brought by marriage, then you will never belong. Pass their marquee, say goodbye to their waitress. Hit the gas and go.