The filth in the suburbs is hidden, but itis there. It is the type of filth that one sweeps beneath thecarpet before company arrives. The filth is mere truth andhere in Suburbia the truth is something to be hidden orforgotten, and only to be found when the benefit of the"truth" strengthens one's integrity (usually atsomeone's expense).

The city streets seem a great dealmore threatening with their simple, honest truth. Yet in thesurrounding towns, lies and falsehood line the streets likepicket fences. A brilliant green lawn hides passing eyes fromthe rot and rank that lay within the home that sits uponit.

In Suburbia it is difficult to have friends, truefriends. One neighbor borrows another's ladder, cursing himbehind his back for being too kind or too greedy. Down thetree-lined street, dinner party's gossip becomes more slanderthan pleasant conversation. Across the street, a married manwatches with his binoculars his neighbor's children as theytake a bath. Everyone smiles here in Happy Valley, as long asthey know a neighbor is watching.

Paranoia sweeps theSuburbanite who enters a subway or who passes an alley. Hewishes to be home and safe in front of his television. There,with a fist in the popcorn, he can learn about his neighbor'sfist in his wife's face. He merely turns the volume up if theshouts from next door carry over to his livingroom.

The Suburbanite knows when to see no evil, hearno evil, and speak not of what was not seen or heard. Yet healso understands the importance of information, to fighttongues of flame with his own. He may have to speak of theevil that he had sworn to have not seen or notheard.

Filth is easy enough to hide (as easy as it isto find). Here in Suburbia a good deal of dusting is done eachday, yet no rag will wipe clean the air. Small towns have bigsecrets, hidden in closets with the other monsters andskeletons.

Hell is Suburbia, yet the only flames arethose that flare up from the grill next door.