And Her Name Is Jules 1a

If you stay in one place too long without looking outward, you slowly become complacent in your thinking and apathetic to your surroundings.

This is what Americana is. America was once a place where people came to seek their fortunes. Now this land is just another sad gloomy no nothing place where people grow up, work, and die. In the same place that their father grew up, worked, and died, and his father before that, and his father before that, and maybe his father before that. There isn't anything special about it. It's a dark, gloomy future of the world globalized. Box stores line the streets of every suburb and city of the land. One place to the next, you cannot really tell where you are. You are in the fat, happy, American utopia as seen on TV.

This is what you see if you fly in. It is a facade. The wild west conformed and integrated into the rest of society. Old men wishing for some sort of retirement that wear the facade of wealth: the BWM, the Mercedes, the Lexus: three cars and a boat fill the drive of a five bedroom, four thousand plus square foot house, carefully designed and manacured landscaping to compete in some sort of rat race with neighbors that they actually have never met, all financed through nearly unbearable debt levels.

This isn't what you should be looking for. You are looking for something, right? That's why you keep reading, and shuffling through the papers. There isn't a happy ending - I'll let you know up front. This story doesn't end well.