I was watching a TV show this morning. A new scene appeared, with a sign in the bottom left corner: “Outskirts of Atlantic City”. I’m a fairly old fellow. I’ve come across the word “outskirts” many times … and never paid attention. This morning I did.
On the edge of things, where the inside blends into the outside. Far from downtown, where most everyone goes for entertainment. That’s the centre of things, and it’s usually predictable. Cool clothing stores, funky restaurants, quiet bars, and those that rock with big screen sports.
But on the periphery, who knows what you’ll find? How about a taxidermy shop, a tire store, or a mom and pop place on the corner for necessities?
The focus is sharp downtown – lots of neon, skyhigh buildings, and buses lined up at the intersection of routes.
They say that most folks live in the suburbs but I wonder if that’s true. If you’re out there – way out there – it’s pretty disorienting at times. It’s easy to feel wobbly, lost, tilting at the junction of flying and falling. It’s not comfy on the outskirts. You may find yourself at the corner of Mystery and Innocence … and who really knows where that is?
No landmarks. No tried and true. No way home? Or every way home?
Seems like there’s no bus service out here.