When I was much younger and far more outgoing, I lived in a city that, at the time, seemed quite large to me. The buildings climbed three stories to cast the paved streets into shadows, and businesses seemed to be booming on every winding road. Although my city was full of action and excitement, it was stale. My city was exciting, yes- to middle aged men in crisp suits and women who brought customers into their stores with the simple pleasure of freshly baked bread. For me, a young boy in a family of executives and doctors, my city was an extension of the people I shared a home with. It was plain. It was predictable. It was made by those who came before us and we were just taking it all in for free.
This is the opening paragraph of a story I've been writing for around a year. I'm hoping to upload little snapshots over the next month or so.