Nausea

On April 13th, 1994, at 4:44 A.M., I was born in the city known as Nashua, New Hampshire. Awarded the title of "Best Place to Live" not once but twice, one would imagine that it is a great place to raise a family with next to no crime. To the folks in my age group, the aforementioned statement is laughable at best. I suppose that if you turn a blind eye to the blatantly obvious social atrocities that are taking place, they do not exist.

The streets are lined with used syringes and cotton swabs that were most definitely not used for flu shots or cleaning one’s ears. Drug dealers overtake the downtown area, migrating from the Tree Streets and French Hill to peddle their array of narcotics to the dope sick street dwellers who once had a sparkle in their eye. Prostitution is running without any real obstruction as well. I was about 13 years old the first time I was propositioned by a prostitute and have been asked if I was interested more times than I care to dwell on.

The police here are really nice if you are not a person of color, or if you come from a wealthy family. I am a poor white boy from a poor white family, and I certainly do not have any fond memories of the police. I know what you are probably thinking. Some 26-year-old punk hates cops and says that they are all racist, how original. If you think that it is some canned and generic spiel then I invite you to test my theory, Valley Street takes kindly to all. It is a wonderful jail in Manchester that the surrounding cities use after local booking/beatings/extortion/etcetera have ran their course.

Their gratuity does not stop at refusing phone calls for those apprehended and well within their right to the use of the phone. It stretches through winding halls of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse amongst prisoners and staff. The rate for recidivism is rather high as well. Apparently, their scare tactics and horrid conditions are not enough to keep our citizens from winding up in that absolute hellhole of a "correctional facility".

We have a hustling and bustling main street that is mainly made up of bars, as that is all this city really has to offer its citizens for a means of entertainment. All of which are keen on the idea of over-serving their patrons, for what matters more than safety than the almighty dollar? We have had several instances of drinks being roofied, stabbings, murders, robberies, you name it. For a quaint looking city, it is full to the brim with walking talking human rubbish.

This city is a den for wolves that has been rebranded as a petting zoo.

The rabid and fanged creatures still residing inside of it are practically foaming at the mouth, waiting patiently for you to slip into their clutches. Gnawing away at the chains around their feeble little ankles to sink their teeth back into the grime. This is my city.

I truly wish that I could say I am proud of where I am from. However, thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. All the hope has been drained out of its every vein through a shared needle and shot back into the arm with a tarry substance. My only hope is that it gets better because in certain light it is a beautiful place. In certain frames you can see the city folk genuinely smile, if only for a second, and it is heartwarming.

Now, if you have read this far, this city may sound similar. It is essentially Everytown, USA. This city of mine is a carbon copy of the dead-end drug era that has stained our country, its people, and its future.