The avoidance of an entire town is difficult, especially a very small town, a small town that I happened to grow up in. There is only one supermarket, one crusty movie rental shop, a few damned churches and banks, a handful of breakfast restaurants inhabited by retired people—the bare minimum number of places to successfully allow for a secluded existence. The "downtown" area is a joke, though the signs on the one main drag seem hell-bent on asserting its importance, calling the area "historic." Options are limited, and the people are, too. This is the kind of town that breeds the kind of people who can't think of a good reason to leave the town, and never do, save for maybe a short vacation to a neighboring coastal attraction, like the Lalport Aquarium, to feed the spotted seals.
Today is turning out to be an unfortunate one. Not lucky. It takes luck to live in this town and to be sane, and today I don't have it. I already had to slip down the ORGANIZATION aisle at Office