Signs and Wonders

My next-door neighbor turned on his car. Music, like a detonating bomb, exploded into our street's afternoon quiet. For an inch's length of time, Meadville seemed to be what its sign blusters: "CITY of Meadville." And then I realized the music genre was country. Nope, this isn't a city.  

Having lived in the ghetto before I moved here definitely earns me points with the kids at work. They miss their city, love their ghetto. I understand. 

But I love my little house in Meadville. Lying barefoot in the grass of my backyard and watching the clouds is definitely one of the perks of living on the edge of a town with a deluded sign.