• The mountains are far away. The mountains are closeby. The mountains surround you like a fortress - or a cage. They are at a fixed distance from your window. Are they closer today than they were yesterday? You lower your eyes: you know not to look too long with anything besides admiration.
• "I hate the grid system," you say. "Nonsense," your friend replies, "the grid system is so sensible." "I just don't get it," you reply. "We have nothing like that out East." Your friend's pupils expand; the whites of their eyes disappear. "The grid system is so easy," they speak with 20 voices. "It's easy. So easy. The grid system is superior." This happens every time.
• There's a Sodalicious on the corner by your house that wasn't there yesterday. Across the road there's a Swig that's been there since the foundations of time. You're walking to school; a Chip and a Crumbl pop up in your way. Behind them, an Insomnia, a Fizz and Penguin Brothers clamor for your attention. You can't go around them. The only way through is in a sugar coma. "Chip or Crumbl?" you ask your friend, a wide, sugary grin on your face. "Swig or Sodalicious?"
• A girl wearing a miniskirt crosses the crosswalk. All the eyes of all the drivers are on her. All the eyes of all the cars are on her. All the eyes of all the buildings are on her. All the eyes of all the entities in the upper stories of the old buildings along University are on her. All the eyes in the whole world are on her at once. She reaches the sidewalk, the light turns green, the cars start moving. The world snaps back to normal. The eyes in the buildings are still on her.
• "We're on the north side of the building," your friend texts you helpfully. You look around - which way is north? Suddenly there are mountains in every direction, looming above you, blocking out the sky. Which way is north? you wonder. "This way," each peak replies at once. North is just a myth. You walk inside and wander around until you find your friends.
• A long, straight street stretches out in front of you. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front. There's no sign that anyone lives there. You walk to the next block and look down the way. A long, straight street stretches out in front of you. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front. There's no sign that anyone lives there. You walk to the next block and look down the way. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front...
* You wander down Center street. Permanence has no meaning here; it's no use searching for a particular shop or restaurant; it will show itself to you when it's ready. There's always something new to see, most of which you'll never see again. You wonder about that little book shop you used to love. You haven't seen it in 50 years. 10 minutes later, it appears on your right. But the bakery and taqueria you used to love will never appear again.
• You pass a church building. You pass a church building. You pass an obviously historical church building. You pass another church building, identical to the first two. You pass a temple. You pass a church building. You look back and you've only come five steps from your apartment.
• You go up into the mountains with your friends for a hike in the peace and quiet. The trail is crowded. You hike on and the trail only gets more crowded. The trail is packed with people as tight as sardines; it's at a standstill. "Isn't this relaxing?" your friends ask. "Being out here by ourselves in nature like this."
• Center street is closed. Center street is backed up. Center street traffic is not moving. It's a concert, or a farmer's market, or a cultural festival. Why do I even take center street? It's always like this, you think. You'll take Center street next time too. You'll take Center street every time.
• University is closed for construction. 500 N is closed for construction. 500 W is closed for construction. 700 N is closed for construction. Bulldog is closed for construction. You wonder where people with cars are even driving. You're glad, for once, that you're biking. How long have you been sitting in traffic behind the wheel in this car? It's taken you six hours to go two blocks.
• Everyone you know would rather die than hike the Y. Everyone you know flatly refuses to hike the Y. Everyone you know has hiked the Y. Everyone you know hated hiking the Y. Everyone you know hikes the Y every weekend of the summer. Everyone you know hikes the Y for Homecoming. Everyone you know is always hiking the Y. "It's just not worth it," they say. "It's so steep and the payoff isn't even that great."
• The locals squint at the mountaintops. "It's a dry year," they say. You know it's their farmer ancestors speaking through them. "We really need the moisture." They squint at the mountains. "Snow already? that's a good sign. We really need the moisture." It's June. Is the snow early or late? "It's been a dry year," they say. Every year is a dry year.
• The morning is fresh. Your car is covered in sludge an inch thick. "It must have rained last night," you say to no one in particular. This used to disturb you. "It will clear up," the locals would say. "It's always like this at first." It's like this every time.
• "This valley used to be underwater," you're told. "Now all that's left is the Utah and Salt Lakes." You stand on the shoreline trail and look out across the valley. You can see your house. Maybe it would be better if it was all still underwater. Suddenly the feeling of drowning you've had for the last five years makes sense. You're living at the bottom of a pleistocene paleolake. That has to be the reason - right?
• As the morning fog clears up, the mountains look close - a lot closer than they should be. You don't look too long; you don't mourn the neighborhoods they swallowed overnight. They knew what they were risking when they settled on the foothills. "Besides, it's just the tree streets," you say with a grim laugh. You'll say nothing when people from the Tree Streets re-emerge later that week with no memory of being swallowed. You lower your eyes. You don't want your neighborhood to be next.
(living in Provo is kinda creepy)
areudirty
dailybridgerton
jimmyeatworldofficial
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
