I have lived in Greenwich Village all my life, that I can remember at least. But it's not a village, it's a neighborhood,where the buildings are old, and small, definitely not like the skyscrapers, who are so tall they seem to have been stretched. My neighborhood's buildings are quiet and respectful, living in their calm manner, like a pond. My apartment is two floored, with big windows. Big windows to see the world -my world- out of. 
    The trees are old. Older than the buildings. They hide our steps from the sun in the day, and hide our secrets from the moon in the night. The trees are like old ladies, sitting, and watching the world fly by around them, like the birds do. The birds always sit in the trees. They sing and and laugh at the people below them. They chirp and cry out to one another, as if they are having a conversation that I am left out in. The birds songs, and the moist smell of dirt and air, fill our houses, as if we did live in a village. 
     The sidewalks are uneven, and ready, to fling a innocent kid from their scooter. It's not uncommon to be sitting on your steps, and suddenly see a kid going to fast, over a bump, and then see them torn from there scooter, and flung into the air. Its also not uncommon for these kids not to be wearing helmets, but I have never seen a serious injury yet. I have seen many knee and elbow scraps, a couple cuts, and a few bruises.
    My best friend Clare lives across the street, and because she lives so close, we often sleep at each other's apartments. This time she was having a sleepover at my house. We were having a great time, there were games to play, and the whole house smelled of the mac'n'cheese my mom was making. The smell made our mouths water. Then all the lights went out, and screams of shocked kids and grown ups echoed down the block. It was pitch dark. Clare took my hand as we walked down stairs. 

"Mom?" I called into the darkness

"It's OK sweetie, I'm here!" I ran to her, dragging Clare behind me. With my dad, mom, and Clare we walked outside. My mom brought some candles, and a lighter. We sat on the stairs to my house, lighting the candles, placing one on each step. It was summer, and the breeze felt good on my face. Then my mom took the mac'n'cheese out of the oven, and laid it on one of the steps. That was one of the best nights of my life, sitting there, eating mac'n'cheese, with the light of the candles in harmony with my entire neighborhood.

    When I was little, Clare and I always use to sit on my steps and wonder where we would be in many years from now. It seemed like an impossible question, where else could we go? Surely we could not leave our neighborhood behind? I wonder if my life can lead me anywhere else. But if it does, I know I will always come back, sometime, or another to Greenwich Village.