Little Town of Nowhere
Quaint. If I had to describe the little village I grew up in, I would call it quaint. Entrapped by large, looming skyscrapers on every side, the small town of Abbots Langley is a welcome break. A break from the never-ending, frantic lives lived in the concrete blockades that squashed and slowly shrunk my home. I lived right next to the main road. We only had one. It ran from the top of the hill, upon which I lived, to the bottom where our only train station stood; derelict and forgotten. A high street atop the hill was the centre of our quiet English village. It was surrounded on one side by pubs and a school, while if you looked the other way, your view held endless, rolling hills of farms and parks and winding country lanes. It was a bubble; isolated from the city life that seemed to be watching us, waiting for us, in every direction.