Some cities are so small that they loom large—over its populace, who sleep at 9pm, over the streets, dark, deserved, over the indoors, belonging to someone else, over the air, indifferent and transmitting the sounds that would only be heard in a place where sounds visit but rarely stay. There are cities so small that they loom large by virtue of embodying the dreams of a man (or a handful) who cared and who faced few obstacles in a place not sedated by tradition.
There are people so large that they need to come to a place that is small in order to rewrite themselves uninhibited and with purpose, instead of being haphazardly overwritten by a metropolis. There are people so large that they need to escape a city that is small in order to write not one but several stories each of which would comprise a life.
