Location, location, location. Realtors covet places based largely on their proximity to other places; desirable places. Desirably places are inhabited by desirable people, often deemed so by desirably lofty amounts of dispensable income, or by other desirable people. Aren’t we all concerned with how we stack up? Face cards in a deck. Kings and queens wish to coalesce with kings and queens, and maybe the occasional jack living in necessary modesty nearby, in a less affluent municipality. It’s the type of connection that grounds said royalty, a plus one that will only ever be a plus one; a modest plateau. These cards all commingle in coveted neighborhoods, shuffling about the streets. Or so we think, we assume. Does an answer to queries concerning residence like “I live on Newberry Street,” or “The heart of Soho,” serve dually as a name tag? Location, location, location. Perhaps we hardly ever meet those who actually dwell in such areas, building up an unreasonable expectation of those haves in the jealous cloud of have-not assumption. In the midst of my foggy, have-not postulation, I considered ways to clear the air. All of which involved various ways to enter the posh abodes of the face cards, everything short of unlawful entry. An ephemeral relationship, just enough to clear things up. A jocund realization would surge, a realization that those desirable people in those desirable places could be the coolest, most down to earth people one could ever encounter. Or, those desirable people could be as desirable as scabies.
