The places we live have a way of looking like us over time.

It's almost as if people inject their true nature, those passions and priorities, and

all the intimate details of the heart into the very fabric of the place they call home.

Just look at the big cities of the world and you'll see human nature written in their

architecture, the beautiful facade of London, one of the world's leading financial centers

practically drips with wealth and power.

The glass skyscrapers of Dubai stand as an outward expression of an inward love of

achievement when we spend enough time somewhere we have a tendency to build it in our own

likeness.

And that's true of the darker aspects of life as well.

Think of the number of cities in America with neighborhoods built around social status

or ethnic identity, or the bright attractive lights of Las Vegas that are surrounded by

barren desert as if that tug of war between our desperation and our dreams had come to life.

Our cities are a part of us.

In some ways they are us.

Cities are often described as being alive, that they have a pulse and a heart and that we,

the people, are the blood.

We personify them to the point where they are indistinguishable from the humans who built

them.

In 1946, the well-known American-turned-British aristocrat, Lady Aster, visited the city

of Savannah, Georgia and described it as very much like a beautiful woman with a dirty

face.

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