Which, if you could, would you choose?

Through the fog and railroad tracks a scraggly man carries purses of cans. Two large white plastic bags oozing brown sugar hanging from his hands like rusted chandeliers. So many people use these tracks as roads or sidewalks. How much money would he make for his efforts?

It’s cold this morning and damp. I dreamed of a skunk invading our house. We panicked and wanted nothing to do with him, hiding behind tables and doors, afraid any moment he would point his tail upward. Finally he said “Open the window and I’ll leave. I’m just trying to get to the bathroom. I want nothing to do with you people. I just got lost.”
Oh.

What would you choose? A thriving metropolis with culture and artists, a place you would love, but would have to work hard just to get by – two jobs: one to survive (ie. food and bills) and the other to survive (ie. writing).
OR
Isolation. Small town. Complete isolation and cold winters. Living in a trailer. Living among hunters and oil men. Maybe loving an oil man whose job wasn’t something you absolutely believed in, but enough for him to support you with your full-time job of writing. Writing. All you would do is writing. And what a damn good story that would be. Two people in a shit economy moving to a wild boomtown surrounded by open land and writing. The writing.
Which, if you could, would you choose?

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