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For my entire adult life I lived in what could only be classified as a very hip, urban neighborhood in a pretty hip town.  I am not, I must confess, the type of person who uses the word “hip,” I’m not sure I’ve ever done it before, but no other word fits.  Everything was in walking distance, we had tons of restaurants featuring cuisine from around the world, more coffee shops than churches, more bars than coffee shops and tons of little, locally owned stores.  Everything was old (my house was built over a century ago) and maybe a little shabby, but I was used to it and really loved it.

Then I met a girl who I grew to also really love.  She had a couple of kids already and I grew to love them.  The girl’s job took her away.   I went too.

We all moved to suburbia.  We live in very, very nice planned community a bit outside of Washington, DC.  I never hear police sirens at midnight or White Trash Masterpiece Theater at 3am.  There is a home owners association.  There are kids everywhere and the schools are fantastic.  Everyone is super friendly. Nothing within a three miles radius of us was here a decade ago.

This is the story of my adjustment and adventures in a clean and shiny place.

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