He called our small town Stagnation. I never did figured out if he liked the play on words (or if he even noticed them for that matter), or if he just felt we were stagnant. I agreed with him fully though. Our small nation, barely a speck on a map, the unseen color on the spectrum, was stagnant as any other small town I'm sure, though we felt particularly trapped. And we had good reason. We were contained from the start, taught that life in a small town is the only way to live. No we weren't all friends, in fact we hardly associated with those outside our social standing or rather our economic standing. No money meant poor friends too. And so I grew up like that, the richest of a band of misfits. My house grew moss on the windows and had a constant cold feeling. Quite frequently we had leaks and drafts. The door vibrated when the wind blew and the water was undrinkable. But still I was the richest. We all came from nothing, some no fathers, some barely there, a couple no mothers. I had both, though not in the place. We were all stagnant.
He called our small town Stagnation, for we are never changing. Let's drink to that.
Whiskey Is My Kind of Lullaby
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