When walking around a mid-west neighborhood on a late Sunday afternoon in November-  as I enjoy doing this time of year after an hour or two listening to jazz albums- one can see with all the downed leaves cleaned from the yards, beneath a grey sky where the sun is fractured into shards of colorless light, suburbia laid out in its functional austerity. Plotted subdivisions and parcels for quickly assembled housing, divided constructions interconnected with graded pavement, the starched grid of utility lines, ghostly glimpses of residents in garages, maybe with a pet, but generally kept inside where it is warm and smells good.  Whether streets lined with post WW II tract homes or millennial McMansions, the pedestrian concept is the same.  A logically organized bubble meant to assist our semi-private attempts to create and display a _______ (warehouse, museum, center, locale, jail, temple) for the richness of our individual dreams.  And it can also be, as it sadly has been, the sole dream itself- circa 2008

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