The grass is always greener

In June 2011, I lived in a historic urban neighborhood where people shouted on the sidewalks at night, delicious Greek food was 50 steps from the back door, and I had this semi-backyard. Now, I live in a quiet, suburban apartment complex where a short drive in any direction leads to a big-box store, but also the cuisine of at least 10 different ethnicities.

I miss this walnut-riddled, gravel monstrosity all the time, but I suppose the grass is always greener.