Morning Coffee

So I'm by myself in my girlfriend's apartment, drinking coffee, reading the Atlantic. No matter how much I tell myself that I love the hustle and noise, the sounds of my neighborhood, the liveliness of the city, there's nothing nearly as peaceful to the mind as a quiet neighborhood early in the morning on a weekend. Part of it is being alone, part of it is that the people who live here are still fast asleep. Their children are in the living room watching cartoons and the only sounds I can hear besides my hand on the keyboard is the "pop" of a tennis ball awkwardly hitting a racket, and a few songbirds chirping as they chase each other from tree to tree. Maybe it's just the ability to concentrate more than I usually get a chance to. I guess it's connected to all those studies about light and noise pollution. The ways in which the end of night time and the end of tranquility has disrupted our circadian rhythms. Or something like that.
I know it's impossible to have it all three ways- to have the suburbs when I want memories of being a kid playing in the streets on base, the country when I want to be alone with my thoughts, the city when I absolutely crave the excitement. A guy can dream just a bit though.