Postcard from the Neighborhood

In Cutesville we go to the mask shop and try on all the masks of the citizens who live there. In Irontown, there's a milkshake shop that makes shakes out of diamonds. They're crunchy and hurt my teeth, and we're the only patrons in the shop, but it's fine; we have money to spend. Money makes us nostalgic. In SoBu Terrace there are policemen with beautiful rubber boots that go up to their knees. They carry golden guns, like the one from that movie, and they only need one bullet to do their jobs effectively. We appreciate how their outfits are color-coordinated, and although they beat locals from the Neighborhood in the streets, we do not mind. The officers do not bother us in our limo. The officers are opening channels to new careers. There are bloodwomen who collect blood from the streets, and we're told they're paid fairly for their labor. I spot one from the backseat. She is carrying a special blood vacuum, which empties into a special blood bucket. She looks in this direction as she does it. She can't see me through the dark glass, I am certain of this, but perhaps, still, she tries. Her eyes like the frozen dessert in my palm. There are precious stones here, in my teeth. I sip on the straw, and I feel the pale carbon atoms moving through me. It is nice to be a tourist; it is nice to go down and visit the Neighborhood, and then return to the Mountain where we live. I got you this postcard there. From Cutesville. From Irontown. There is a painting on the front; I hope it is to your liking.