Here in this city in a desert--a city where there is the insane pretense that it is no desert but a rain-rich region, say Scotland--I am disturbed by my neighbors.
They are eternally present--despite the fences.
They are present in a way that irritates me.
They are an uninvited and unwanted presence: with their barking dogs and their unsolicited advice about which weed killer to use, and their lament that my parents have lost the desire to have a "beautiful" home...
Ironical that the walls do not keep the neighbors out.
Insane that the people in this city seem to delight in walls, fences, and all manner of symbolic expression of the fact that this bit of dirt is MINE.
It makes me sick.
A small-minded, unthinking people.
A city of dust.
A city of misery.
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