“"What was it like?" Vince asks. "Huh?" "Growing up in a small town like this?" Boring. Oppressive. Smothering. I shrug. "I don't know. Different than California. Everson is probably where all those clichés about small towns were born?" "Why do you say that?" "Here? No one locks their doors. Everyone knows everyone's business, and the same people who say they can't wait to get the hell out of here end up married and knocked up." "So you're saying it's an idyllic little town." I laugh. "Yeah, ...I guess that's what I'm saying." Looking at Everson now, I see the appeal. It's so much quieter then California. A pang of nostalgia hits me and for a minute, it feels as if this is exactly where I belong. I pull up to the curb of a house with light blue siding and stark white windows. The grass is a well-manicured, vibrant green. I point at the house. "That's where my father lives. Hasn't changed much since I moved." Vince stares at the house for a few minutes and then turns to me. "Looks nice." "I guess so." Vince doesn't say anything after that.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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