the perfect little town

once upon a time, there was a town called Love. Love wasn't really a town, but rather five square blocks in a big city. all of the people in the town were very young. most of them had run away from their homes in search of something better. well, they got it. in Love, everyone made things themselves. there were no walmarts anywhere. people harvested their own food, grew cotton and hemp and made clothes, collected water from the magic river and boiled it. they found clay in the river and made pottery. there was no money in Love. people made things because they loved making them and gave them away because they loved each other. they made music together and it was the music of the people, of everyone, of Love. every week, all of the citizens of Love (or Lovers, as they were called) held a meeting and settled disputes, made sure everyone was getting what they wanted, and that kind of thing. the people of Love were completely happy, except for one thing: many of them were being killed. every day men in blue came and beat the Lovers and killed them. everyone in Love had a clay whistle around his or her neck, so that if they were being hurt, other people could come and help them. this system worked well, for a while. the problem was that Love had no power, as it rejected politics and money. that meant that the man could do anything they liked to them. the other problem was that the Lovers didn't lead safe lives, and many of them killed themselves recklessly, or died of a horrible virus. sooner or later, the Lovers were all killed. the town lasted no more than 30 years. today, nothing remains of them today but some cool shops and beautiful graffiti, and a sad little memory of a place now known as san fransisco.