"After I had been living there for a month I came to view its inaccessibility as some sort of corporate scheme concocted to discourage perspective residents from lower income level (i.e. those people who relied solely on public transit) from moving there. Anyway, The Ivy, like all my other havens before it, became a prison."1
This is where I live. Different name, same angle, same principle. You have no reason to be there unless you live here, or visiting. Children can play without fear in the street. We always drive less than 25 miles per hour. Running across the street, not looking left or right, I guess the premise is "kids will be kids."
You never hear a horn, it's as if they all have been disengaged. You never hear a car door slam, you don't have to. We are get in our cars from our garage, get out of our cars in the garage.
A very pretentious area, with tailored lawns, joggers run as early as 4:30 am, you can it's that safe. In the evening strollers are pushed by mother and father as if in admiration for the area they live. The man thing done on Saturday...the hum of lawn mowers throughout the community. Scattered throughout the community are the token or symbolic blacks who have arrived, to afford to live in this economical area. Great school system which is why we live here. But you can never let go of the corporate scheme of discouragement. Or is it just the great American dream and I see too much in it. Nah, it's a prison.
pg. 55 Willow Weep For Me, Mary Nana-Ama Anquah, At One World Book, Published by The Ballentine Publishing Groups, Copyright @1998 by May Nana-Ama Anquah