Perfect Avenue. It lived up to its name to… well, to perfection. But then everything was perfect in Whitopolis. However, if there were scales of perfection, then this street would be that little bit more perfect than everywhere else. This was where the high-end shops were, where people came if they wanted their clothing, bedding, furnishings to be that little bit better. But still white. Everything was white, and nothing could be whiter than anything else. Still, people could tell if you’d been to Perfect Avenue. In a country where total equality and uniformity were meant to have been created, the citizens had still managed to find subtle ways of asserting their superiority. Human nature couldn’t be reprogrammed that easily.