Sometimes I love small-town life.
Like when it takes you a long time to put petrol in your car late one evening because the self-service pump has trouble reading your credit card but you don't mind one bit. Because at the other pump, having the same problem, is the guy you secretly fancy. And the autumn wind is still mild in your face and it's dark but safe, and you are on your way home to a hot shower and a hot cup of tea, your mind still full of the day's experiences. And you smile at the guy and joke about the card problem.
Then it is suddenly OK not to have the thrill of a foreign world around you. Because you have a world filled with family, and childhood memories, and friends you unexpectedly run into at petrol stations. And the man you are so happy to see - you know his name and you know you will see him again. Because this town is yours.
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