Long Gone and Moved Where the Streets Have No Name

Look, I know all this identity stuff is important to you but this s taking things just a little bit too far. You didn’t have the guts to go the whole hog and change your name by deed poll. That nickname nonsense was dropped in under a fortnight. There were murmurs of inclinations to name your child something downright mystical like Raindrop or Fruitbun or whatever (I really wasn’t paying attention but I do know what you’re like) but you settled on something relatively standard and commonplace.

So you sought to distinguish yourself by the place you decide to hang your hat (it’s rather a spectacular hat by the way, I particularly like the feathers). The trendy boroughs or purportedly interesting locales weren’t quite spectacular enough for the likes of you. It was a real source of frustration that you simply could not find the right thing to establish the snowflake-like quality of your sheer individuality.

Then a certain something happened to catch your eye in a fortuitous bout of serendipity. A brand new housing development where the streets would quite literally have no name. What better way to prove that you’re totally above the lure of material wealth by ensuring that no one would ever be able to send you post? It was quite definitely an ideal solution rather than a key indicator of your increasingly shaky mental stability.

So when they try to look for you, the poor clueless idiots will have not the slightest idea where to go. You’ll dissolve into some variety of mythic mist or legend. Folk will whisper of the person they used to know who dropped completely off the grid long ago and moved to where the streets have no name. Or they’ll laugh for a bit and forget about you entirely thanks to the fact that you’ve made it impossible to stay in touch. One or the other, no way to know which.

Song choices courtesy of: The Script and U2

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