Hell, Part I

I live in "God's country", where trees instead of buildings line the horizon and meth labs run by tweakers and pot heads are hidden blemishes beneath goopy concealer that's one shade too light. Noah lives down the road in Lockwood Valley and his ark is parked in his driveway; I saw it on my 5 mile run this morning. He's waiting for the valley to be washed out and all the heathens with it and I don't doubt the ark is filled with heavy artillery. I believe I'm only one of 6 people who don't drop acid in this town of 200 that has 3 churches and no Starbucks. Self-described back country folk talk down about the city and its dirty crime and heartless citizens, but I've seen more filth and ugliness in small towns than I ever have in large cities. In cities it's proportional; in small towns it takes over like the Plague. You can see it in their pocked faces, rotted teeth and fried hair, with their eyes not set quite right and their expressions hardened into a permanent sneer. You see it in their six children and subsequent marriages that hang on despite the beatings, cheatings and drunken fights.

I pound the rubber soles of my tennis shoes against hard pavement, dodging stares from everyone who's wondering why on God's green earth anyone would be out exercising on Christmas when it's one more day you could be tweaking at home without having to call in sick to work. Sorry folks, Santa didn't leave crack in my stocking this year so I'm loading up on endorphins and a nice big cup of "I'm getting the fuck out of here" with all the money I'm saving by living in this hell-hole.

The county sheriff hardly patrols the streets anymore because they know if they arrested everyone who broke the law, this place would become a ghost town and there'd be no one to serve the masses of snow bunnies that flock in from the valleys everytime we get an inch of snow. The town caters to the outsiders they hate because they know it brings in the only business they'll ever see, outside of the gas stations posted by the freeway. The snow bunnies see this town as a paradise of fluffy snow covering a forest of trees and cute little shops with small town names like "A Spot of Bead" and "The Screaming Squirrel". Stay awhile and you may find there's more "snow" to be bought if you knock on the door of one of the shacks at the end of the unkempt dirt roads that weave through town. The best view I ever saw of this place was from the rear view mirror as I shifted gears and stepped on the gas. Take a photo of that.