“Ever lived in a small town?”
“No.”
“So why the interest in them? If you haven’t lived in one, how can you possibly understand one?”
She didn’t miss the edge in his voice and had to fight to keep one out of hers. “That’s why I’m here. So I can learn about them, see what brings people here, keeps them here.”
“That’s easy,” he said. “I’ll tell you now and save you months of research. People want to be more than just ‘the man in 1-A’ or the ‘woman with the red Porsche.’ They want to be a name, a face…a person.” He paused a second, went on. “They want to be seen, understood, respected. Cities don’t do that; they don’t respect people. They beat them up, wear them out, put them under enormous pressure to be faster, better, the best. And the people lose themselves, fall apart somewhere between the espresso machine and the dry cleaners. So, they take a breath and then another and another and they like it, and then they find a place like Restalline, away from the craziness but still close enough that they can get back on the track every now and then, run full out at the malls and the theaters, and then find their way back home. And they realize they like having their neighbor know their first and last name, even their kids’ names. They like being a person, being respected.” He blew out a long breath. “That’s why they come and that’s why they stay.”
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