Thursday, August 27, 2009
Grasping at Dreams
All of my young adult life I was looking for the neighborhood that I grew up in. The perfect place to raise my son. Nice neighbors. Peace and quiet. Decent homes. Kids playing safely. Local drugstore with a soda jerk on the job, comic books on the shelf. Hobby shop down the block. Trees.
Occasionally I'd find such a neighborhood. You had to make six figures per year to live in them. The cops would spy me checking the place out and follow me until I left.