Naomi scoffed at the perkily-fonted ivory banner.

“Live in White Dove Hills! If you lived here you’d be in Heaven by now! Ask a member if you are qualified today!

Yeah, she’s be sure to do that. Gated communities were the worst. People went there to preserve their fragile homogenous ways. If she had learned anything from attending High School with those blue-bloods, it was that people who lived there had no idea that anybody could live any differently.

Once upon a time she had thrown a party and had invited all of her classmates. Nobody came.

When she questioned why, another student told her that she had forgotten to give out the the name of the gated community she lived in. She didn’t even try to explain that one.

No. For Naomi, it wasn’t a matter of being qualified. It was a matter of pride. And a matter of finding her way out of this place. Despite the “safety” that gated communities provided, she had still managed to enter it without encountering gate nor guard. It was only this porcelain banner and sudden marble walls that tipped her off that she was not supposed to be here. Not in this fancy-pants place. It was a big mistake choosing civilization over a desert shortcut home. She belonged among sand, if anywhere. She didn’t belong anywhere.

ANXIETY. Not supposed to be here. Outsider. Undesirable.

Naomi sat on a rounded curb and cycled her breathing mechanically. It didn’t really do anything for her thoughts, but it made her throat less dusty. That wasn’t it exactly, the roads were devoid of any speck of grit, but it was the closest descriptor she could use to express her discomfort.

God, where was everybody? Was she that lower class that everyone was disgusted with her presence? Did they think she was a criminal here to rob them and so had called the cops and bunkered down inside their prissy properties? Knocking on randoms doors produced no helpful result. Twitching curtains were the best result, but that might have been a draft. What was wrong with her? If only she hadn’t forgotten her phone…

She forced herself to remember a calming technique. It had never worked for her, but she had promised her therapist earlier that she would at the very least try. Fuck it.

Five things you can see.

Four things you can touch.

Three things you can hear.

Two things you can smell.

One thing you can taste.

Five things... The houses.

They could count as multiple things, right? Probably not, but if it meant she could look at these upper-middle-class demons of architecture for a shorter period of time she was on board. So, one house with a large door for no reason. A second house with a naked angel statue pouring water for all eternity. Third one, this time with a reflective driveway. Perhaps gold, or gold leaf. Fourth had a lawn so green she couldn’t be sure if it was just paint. Finally, the fifth house behind her was surrounded with a white marble wall that indicated that while the owners knew the community was safe from commoners, it still wasn’t safe from their competitive neighbors.

Four things to touch. The pavement, so smooth it was like varnished wood. It was varnished wood. The flowers, looking so genetically modified they could kill hardened butterflies. She didn’t want to touch it, and thankfully her therapist didn’t mention having to actually touch the things she listed. A mailbox with the bump of a house number welded to it’s faux-elderly surface. 83i. Lovely, even the house numbers were unreal.

She cocked her head in an effort to identify three noises. The fountain, smooth jazz prickling behind thick walls, and chirping birds that sounded so inauthentic they could have been a recording. Maybe they were, she wouldn’t put it past these people.

Losing concentration, she stuck her nose in the direction of the varnished sidewalk and road and pretended that she could smell them from where she was.

Taste. That was harder. And she really didn’t want to attract any more attention in case someone was watching through a peep-hole.

Cursing her ever-present anxiety, Naomi stood. And, that was out loud. The profanity must have been an incantation however, because she then spotted someone in the distance running in her direction. Anxiety overriding her need to escape the neighborhood, she backed herself into the marble wall. As the woman jogged past her, she got a good look at her attire. She was wearing a cross between a pantsuit and a tracksuit, dotted with strange pins. However, Naomi let out a poorly timed sigh, and the woman’s head swung in her direction. With the scent of the lady’s breath mints suddenly on her face, Naomi couldn’t remember if it was five things you could see or five things you could hear. The woman did not speak, and the two of them stood in a tense but awkward silence.