What can be more American than not knowing your neighbor?

Bizarre Dread Moment #3123, when matted hair matters.

"Where is the weed at, you gettin' all this cuz you high or somethin'
(smiles). Shit, where the weed at."

- Dunkin Donuts cashier response to an order of one blueberry cake donut and one small tea with milk and sugar

"No, I don't know where the weed is at. One sugar will be fine."

For a good glimpse into a highly entertaining cross-section of the American public, go to 7-11 and/or Dunkin Donuts between 2 a.m and 7-a.m. Interesting types. Dunkin Donuts is dirty and humble, its patrons comprising the closest thing to a cohesive labor movement this country has known in a while. Afterall, if we can't forge unity based upon our shared humanity or common status as eternal subordinates of an Almighty Creator, then at least we'll be bedmates in addiction. Sugar and caffeine please, and make it 24 hr. accessible in iced or fried form. Donuts, void in the middle, sweet exterior. America - void in the middle, but so sweet on the outside you'll hardly notice.

And by the way, how can we heed the commandment to Love thy neighbor if we don't know who he/she is? Most of us do not know our neighbors let alone Love them. If the state-of-the- art-design exhibited in New York suburbs is not conducive to people-2-people interaction, a.k.a. living, then what is? At least the cars look shiny in the driveway, the lawns all 'scaped, fences still box us in and keep out the Other. Such a pretty donut. Our hearts are withered.