Playing Pretend

I've made no attempts to hide my distaste for Midwestern United States living over the course of the past for years. When asked for an explanation, all I can come up with is that sense of oppression that comes from knowing that I'm not located fifteen to twenty minutes from the ocean. Freshwater just doesn't cling to your skin, nor does it smell quite right. I'm certain that a great deal of this is only in my head, but it makes me crave the East Coast like nobody's business.

In any case, there's one street that I cut through on my way home each day, and as the autumn colors blast themselves into the fore, I pretend for those short three blocks that I'm back on Long Island, where the leaves display every radiant shade of warmth during the autumn months. In those brief moments, I feel comfortable - content, even - and the rest of my day disappears. Then I turn the corner to a road lined with abandoned buildings, rundown houses, and small businesses that are barely staying afloat, and I remember that I'm in Michigan, a state with little going for its economy besides outstanding academic programs and legalized marijuana. And soon, I'll be just another statistic of a twenty-something moving out of the deuce to find greener pastures elsewhere.

Every fiber of my being is humming in anticipation of that day. Six months and counting.