In the street of sameness, nothing stood out. It wasn’t allowed, to be different was akin to being subversive, and that would never do.
Once a month the suburban dictator would arrive with set-squares and theodolites to check the sameness. Those who were not compliant were ostracised, forced to publicly apologise for bringing their community into disrepute.
It was a proud community, everyone had a name colour to reflect their sameness, Randy and Sandy Beige, Joe and Jane Pastel, all blended together in decorous perfection.
The residents loved their free society. Their sameness was about belonging.