The kenopsia of orderly houses stretch in sloping lines along the wide belt of road, with no beginning and no end for as far as her eyes can see. It sends a shiver up her spine, creepy in its familiarity, filling her with an artificial nostalgia for a place she’d never known. She can hear the dead silence from the houses, cookie cutter all the way down, the empty spaces between only punctuating the pin-drop quiet all around. There are signs of life but there is no one here.
Description of the average American suburb, brought to you by my morning jog. An excellent setting for analog horror.