Located in the rural and scenic part of Southern Connecticut, otherwise known as Fairfield County (or hell to others), Wilton is a town of nothing. There is truly nothing here and I'm sure there never was anything here, and in all likelihood there never will be anything. The town is infested with upperclass stoner snobs who get all the drugs from weed, to coke, to acid, and so on and so forth. You won't find lower class heroin addicts here, only the lamest of the lame Phish loving stoner types who are elitist enough to say that Phish were so good, they had to break up so the members could be even better on their own.
Oh, and of course, theres the sad-sad music scene, comprised of disaffected youth in half-hearted and pathetic punk bands, the typical jam band spin offs re-doing "99 Red Balloons" in 20 minutes and ruining a good song, and of course the necessary metal bands, just to prove that this is the dregs of suburbia. In all reality, there is no future for these bands outside of Trackside and other local venues such as the Empress Ballroom in Danbury and other teen centers around the county. Of course, if you're into self-obsessed stoner jam-bands or self-righteous punk bands, be my guest and come here and enjoy them with us (do we really enjoy them at all?).
Racial profiling is necessary here in Wilton. In school, theres in an intense racial barrier, due to the fact that there may be only 4 or 5 african-american kids in the school at the time, a few hispanic kids, and maybe a couple Jewish kids or even some Indian kids. But its not uncommon to here someone drop the n-bomb casually or call an Indian kid a towel head. To properly fit in, White Christian is best.
When Pete Townsend sang "Don't Cry/Don't close your eyes/It's only teenage wasteland," I'm sure he wasn't thinking of Wilton, but hell, it works really well in describing, well, Wilton.
"Hey dudes, gonna chill at Trackside?"