Meg and I were watching American Gangster this evening and we took a break about forty-five minutes into it to sit on the front porch for a spell. If you haven't seen the movie, don't worry, I won't spoil anything, but you do need to know that this is a movie set in the early 1970's in New York City and thereabouts.
As we sat on our front porch, I couldn't help but notice how nice it was. An absolutely beautiful day. And quiet--blissfully so. We were sitting there with Scarlette, our Basset Hound, and I was struck by the dichotomy between our surroundings and those of New York City, Newark, etc.
I just don't know how people do it. All the noise and people and concrete. Trash and graffiti and exhaust fumes. Hate and rudeness and indifference. The lack of trees and grass and wildlife. All crammed together with no open spaces. I couldn't handle it. It'd drive me mad.
Now, I know there is plenty of good in big cities and that I've made some broad generalizations. I also fully realize that I'm talking about what I've observed while watching a movie. But rest assured, I have been in many a metropolis. On several continents, at that. And I can't hardly take it for more than a day or two. I really don't think that's how we were meant to live.