Some people look at high-rise residential and do a Marv Albert elbow jerk: “Yes! We’re urban!” Others see something like this:
… these concrete and asphalt blights where you live in twelve story stacks of people where the only view you have is into an alleyway full of garbage and dog shit which separates you from a close up view of the guy in the next buildings bathroom, who you have to obviously attempt to ignore eating spaghetti while they’re on the crapper. Sure, my Mid-Western city might be comparatively boring and uncultured, but I can walk 15 feet out my $639 a month, 800 square foot, ground floor apartment to have my dogs poop in actual grass next to a tree that was there before the apartments were built 40 years ago. I’ll trade a city that never sleeps for grass and actually being able to see stars at night. Call me crazy like that.
I admit to having eaten spaghetti in a variety of places, but that’s not one of them.