Once.

If large and open living rooms--where copious light intrudes thoughtful curtains--cry out with promises of things like "managable rent", "true love really lived", or "a simple and rewarding life"; then we hear them like sirens. How many times have we wept for these shoals? How many faces could have been ours, in a flash of excitement that stretched out into that fabled victory lap we'd imagined would be "the rest of our lives"? Who are these people who so freely feel the soil beneath their feet, or the crisp wind urging across their skin? A porch, a swing, and an hermetically sealed paradise, unshattered by everyday vulgarities.