It was boring to rue the suburbs; she was aware of this. She pictured the anthropology of her life like layers of shale, jagged and delicate, crumbling, but all, fundamentally, indistinguishable shades of gray. She lived elsewhere. Then she did not live elsewhere. It was all the same, really; everywhere, eventually, became elsewhere. It was a cliché to be this person; she got bored just thinking about it, the sadness over nothing, the fact that she was resentful of the easiest life in the world. And yet she couldn’t help herself.
