Driving by a Neighborhood in Autumn


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“This neighborhood used to be all trees. Just a tall green forest.”
“When did they build it – the neighborhood?”
“Oh, sometime in the mid-nineties. I can’t exactly remember when, the years just bleed together, you know?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, when you live here for forty years, you start to forget how long it’s been since a road was repaved or a neighbor moved away, and before you realize it things have changed. Then doesn’t look like now, you know?”
“Oh. No. I move around. New state every year or two. Every place is different before I’m there. Can’t notice anything changing if I’m also moving.”
“No?”
“Anywhere I live, everything around me stays the same. I leave too soon to see a forest disappearing.”
“Yeah, well, a neighborhood takes time to be built, you know?”
“Like Rome.”
“Huh?”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day. I move too quickly to watch history happen. To watch stories.”
“Oh. Do you wish you could?”
“Yes.”
“To see a forest disappearing?”
“Yes. To see something changing. Not already different.”
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