Years before I moved to the sticks, I lived in a neighborhood where the homes were too close and the strange lives of those in the homes were intertwined in a manner nature never intended. While humans are for the most part social creatures who enjoy the company of others, those neighborhoods where people are packed in close proximity with folks we would ordinarily give wide berth seem to cause a great deal of acting out that can only be described as bizarre at times. That which would normally be considered private, suddenly becomes the topic of casual conversation over the back yard fence. “Hey neighbor! How are the kids?” is met with “I’m fucking their soccer coach”. “How do you like the new car?” is dismissed and answered with “I think my kid may be trans-gender so I sat in the garage for six hours last night wearing a black bustier contemplating sucking the tail pipe.” The strange part is that this sort of thing was usually met with a “Well…ok then. Hope you have a nice day!”
It’s not that people are any less weird out here in the boondocks. Take my word for it, they can be. It’s just that with a little bit of room, that strangeness can percolate of its own accord unseen and I can continue to fool myself into believing that we are all more or less normal.