American Dream

I went to a birthday party for my friend's father on Saturday. He turned 50.

My friend, Josh, and I stepped out of the bar to get some air. We sat in the grass on the highest hill in Maple Grove.

"Where are we?" Josh asked.

I swept my hand over the suburban houselights stretching off into the distance and the vacant development lot immediately below. "My friend, we are smack dab in the middle of the American Dream," I said. "How does it feel?"

Josh squinted and held his thumb and finger out in front of his face like he was about to pluck one of those houselights from the horizon. "Small," he replied. "It feels like it should be bigger."