an afternoon in fortress surburbia.
Like Don Draper struggling to put together his daughter’s backyard playhouse, you spend all Saturday assembling a suburban symbol, which fakes looking sturdy but is in fact incredibly cheap and flimsy.
Flipping through the novel of an instruction manual, which seems as complex and baffling as a set of war game diagrams or some NFL coach’s offensive playbook, you put pieces together in seemingly random assemblages.
Finally, sweating in the August heat, you arrive at the final page, which shows you, in head-on tank-like grandiosity, the monster you have created: an armada of flaming hamburgers.
