THIS IS MY NANOWRIMO OPENING LINE (I really should do this in word, etc. but maybe I don't want to save it if the webworld crashes--I like the fragility and possibility all my words can vanish, etc. No, actually when I put it in my computer I have to face the guilt that there is really something else I MUST be doing and I am being BAD...This quasi-creativity for me is a form of self-destruction/career suicide...luckily, the internet makes it possible for me to ignore this fact.)

Chapter 1 of The Divine Reward Clearinghouse (OK first few sentences)

Here in the wild west everything turns out to be a fake something else. My grandmother lives at Spanish Traces. Across the street is Shangri La. Spanish Traces allows stucco to stand in for authentic hand poured adobe watered by the sweat of peasants. Shangri La has those pointy Arabic inserts with real glittery green tiles all along its front. Spanish Traces is newer the Shangri La, the pool is less green. Yet, I prefer the Shangri La and wished Nana lived there instead...those extra 10 years the Shangri La has on Spanish Traces makes it almost authentic with its 1950's semi-historic touches. The walls of Spanish Traces are almost hollow in their flimsiness. The Shangri La is made from real bricks. The Shangri-La will outlast us all.