It’s the kind of neighborhood where dark-skinned women push red-cheeked blond babies in super-wide strollers as expensive as some cars and equipped with expansive sun shades above, shock absorbers beneath and huge shopping nets behind. Here elderly women walk small dogs so fluffy so orange so bedecked with bows and ribbons that they seem like stuffed animals on wheels. Should my scruffy terrier, ruffian that he is, try to say hello in the way dogs say hello, sniffing all parts that really matter, little Phoebe would be immediately swept up into her shocked Mama’s arms, out of harm's way. Here there are no heavy mesh security doors but plenty of discrete video cameras, recording every passer by. Windows have no metal bars but are equipped instead with expensive tasteful shades, designed to allow light to enter yet keep anyone from seeing the domestic bliss within.
And, here, surprisingly, some houses brazenly display lawn ornaments, stubbornly (and thankfully) out of sync with gold-leafed building numbers, marble entries, and copper gutters.
Those who like to sing will always find a song.