Sometimes there is no alternative suburbia. Sometimes it's just suburbia. It doesn't matter how many 'alternative' names I give it;  I still walk onto the back verandah and look into the living rooms of three other houses.
Every bus that pulls up out the front, every screeching school kid zooming by on a scooter, every power-walking pram-pushing mother that struts past is just one more turn of the vice clamping around my brain.