Flat, featureless, car humming, impersonal suburbs. Fences, walls and roads; neighbours ducking out of front doors and into cars. One division after another. The enemy of thought and pill of despair. The last place I wanted to be, yet with somewhat bitter irony, just like the place where I grew up, albeit in some suburb on the other side of the planet. History repeats. If god exists, he has a twisted sense of humour.

So here I am. Stuck it would seem. Have not been to an art gallery or place of culture in two years now. The struggle for existence has taken absolute precedence. The numbness of being stuck in a corner; paying bills and debts. Knowing that the prime of your life is being sucked through a straw.

Oh yes, the suburbs. Sweet, sweet suburbia.