In The Place Where Dreams Go To Die your life continues as it should, though out of tune and askew. Alone in a waltz, bearing it all with no music. Words sound unfamiliar on your own tongue and you utter banal phrases to people in which you care not to hear their response. You feel the greyness first as it seeps deep inside the cracks of your conscious. Glimpses of it start to present themselves on the surface and in your face. You cease to act and instead go through the motions of life--the same uninspired choreography, day after day.

You can't remember when or why you stopped wearing pink lipstick.

Perhaps because the people in The Place Where Dreams Go To Die had labels for things like pink lipstick and you wanted to resist being put in a box. So in becoming less of yourself, it became you had less to offer.

And you trapped yourself into thinking these people cared less. That you were misunderstood. That your passions were buried deep and out of reach. And you realize you put yourself in a box and you are drowning in the apathy of it all. You need a jolt, a life boat, anything to revitalize the greyness in your skin and the silence in your heart.

Action takes but one first step. Repetition required, the cadence is awkward but soon you're running, jogging, dancing. You hit your stride somewhere along aisle six. You can't decide between Unapologetic and Orchid Ecstasy so you buy them both with shed insecurities. You exit through a revolving door, leaving The Place Where Dreams Go To Die in pursuit of a rosier life you ought not miss.