City Livin

I wrote the third police statement of my life this morning.
The first one I had to fill out, about 15 years ago, was a tear-strewn mess, with myself as the perp.
The second one was seven years ago, on the eve of our wedding day, when a conversation with our drug-fueled, upstairs-neighbors went terrible awry.
And today's statement took place before 9AM, while we were finishing our coffee.
Only in the city, man, only in the city....

We were having our daily dog-park roundabout, with about 8 or so of our other dog-owner friends, when I saw a guy punch a girl in the face and keep on walking.  She ran after him screaming.  They were gone from our sight very quickly.  We all thought we heard shots... and then, way off in the distance, someone saw this same guy jump over our neighbor's fence.  Within minutes, the police were there and asking us to fill out paper work.

What's strange about this is not the scenario itself, but the fact that this didn't really feel all that strange.  A wonder, an unfortunate incident, and curious, most definitely, but quite of the norm, really. 
City Life.  It is the way it is. 
And since the bug of city living (all the highs and all the lows, all the good, all the bad, and of course, all the ugly) bit me years ago on Carmine Street  and never let up, I just believed once a city dweller, always a city dweller.  How could I possibly give all this up?!

I'm also not the least bit unique to have the idea of packing up the few bits you own, heading for the hills, keeping your eyes out for a little house and a huge backyard, to get as far off the grid as possible and not look back.
I just didn't know this idea would be so damn persistent.   The country vs. The city?!
With the conversation in the past, it always ended with a 'yeah, but what in the world would we do?'  Nowdays, it seems to end with 'yes, oh gads yes, but where shall we go?'

...and so she comes to dream herself a tree.