City life is human beings living in cubes stacked on top of each other over other human beings where normal existence which includes walking around barefoot and trying to avoid the squeaky parts of the floor after 10 pm or going down the stairs each morning to go to work is seen as aggressive and unacceptable behavior by those in the cube below.
“She’s breaking down the ceiling!”
Thanks for making me feel fat! I’ll stop eating cookies! I won’t move!
“She’s scare the dog with all her stomping around!”
But you’re not supposed to have a dog in the building.
City life is buying air fresheners by the truckload to combat the smell of burnt hamburger helper at 10 pm, wafting up the heat vents, as disgusting as it is while you lie in bed trying to sleep, catching yourself thinking that at least it’s better than the smell of dirty sheets and dank urine that you usually smell from below and you are pleased that the two car vent air fresheners that you’ve clipped on each heating vent seem to be doing a fair job and then you step in dog shit that’s laying about everywhere on the way to your car parked behind the building and those wildflowers you planted in the summer get weed whacked and then stomped on and the ridiculous drama of other’s lives you have no connection to except proximity becomes your problem and you wonder:
Why in the heck does anyone want to live in town?
So apartment neighbors can gesture at me and call me bad names?
So I can hear the sound of Harley Davidson motorcycles roaring and popping at 2 a.m. outside of my bedroom window?
So I can walk to work and be stunned by the few rare seconds when there are no cars on the street and I finally catch the sound of a morning dove and finch before it is quickly drowned out by tires on pavement?
There’s no coffee shop restaurant book store theater entertainment venue job worth this existence.
There is, of course, city friends.
Stupid crowded noisy intrusive insulting city. I’d be gone in an instant without if it weren’t for my few close friends.