. . . and a million interesting things about each of those things.
Straight-up beauty, biking, the way you see as many windows as people, and prioritization of life rather than money might top the list of the million. And about any of these the million things to say might not just be some fact—like how the beauty causes even residents to stop and take pictures of the place they live as if they were tourists or how all the biking keeps things quiet and the people looking good—but the way such things become part of your climate, seep into the nature of who you are.
On that score let's talk about porousness.
You have to go pretty far out of the city before you see anything that might even resemble a gated community and in the city, it is hard to think of a place you can’t move into or through. No heavy traffic or Jersey barriers ever stop you from crossing a street, no building cannot be walked into or behind, or under, and it is hard to find an alley or backway that’s blocked to you.
Yes, there are lots of private gardens and mini sanctuaries the rich control. But you don’t see these the way you would in other places. Exclusivity is hidden rather than advertised. I've come to learn, too, that there is any number of private clubs maintained by university alumni groups or some art hound society that look snooty enough. But I know about these almost by accident and the few I made my way into were not much more than frat houses or super clubs. They keep a relatively low profile too, “We hate your kind in here” is frowned on far more than celebrated.
But because no one, or no sign, tells me I can't go under or through or around, enter whatever archway calls to me, the feeling is once of access. I do not explore the city to see who owns what, but how I might discover what my neighbors are doing, and what we are all doing together, with “living” the standard answer.
Oh and here’s a few days ago at 10:30 PM.