The street upon which I live doesn’t meet the municipal definition of a street – it’s narrow, isn’t “crowned” (meaning water collects in the center, rather than at the curb), lack curbs and has nary a sidewalk. None of this bothers me since, as I once explained to a new neighbor, it remains quiet enough that sometimes it feels like time stands still. Indeed, I commented, sometimes the 72 hours by which the city typically plows all roads can feel like 96 hours, or even a week on our little street – primarily because it often takes that long for crews to find their way past my home. Again, I don’t find this particularly bothersome, but others are less patient.
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