Description of My Town.

This is what I handed in as a description as my town.

There is a constant sense of discomfort in **********, whether it is the unbearable summer swelter that leaves a sticky sheen of sweat on your skin, the bitter winds of winter that no amount of expensive sweaters can keep from chilling your bones, or the feeling of arrogance that settles over the people. **********, the small town in Connecticut where there seems to be a constant sense of boredom and dismay, where the latest trend is suffering, and we have all played the pity party game. Teenagers practice their looks of tortured angst; they have nothing to complain about. The sidewalks are comparable to the conversation in this small town- leading to nowhere, yet offering no escape, and scarce, like the number of intelligent conversations not consumed with complaints about the money that burns a hole in everyone's pockets. Escape is the common dream among teenagers, who discuss the glamorous places they'd escape to, school in The City, California; vacations on cruise ships escorting them across the ocean to places better than here. The mothers are career women or stay-at-home-moms, who make desperate attempts to be "One of the Girls" with their mortified daughters; the stench of embarrassment floating over the town like a cloud, a shadow. Fathers heading off to work with their briefcases, play the ever-present and always important Daddy. Boys, skateboards tucked under their arms, are too cool for this. They have better things to do, the sense of a hidden agenda gleaming in their eyes, hidden by shaggy hair of all colors. The houses, here with their green trimmed lawns, landscapers mowing away, stand nest to the more average abode of the more humble family. No matter who ou are, there will always be a sense of **********, not always detectable, but there nonetheless, a gleaming badge of honor to some, a bruise to others. Welcome to **********, Home of the Poseur. Hope you can handle the heat.