A girl starts out in a small town. Tiny. Miniscule. People from the northern part of the state have maybe, maybe heard of it. Its largest import now acts as the comic relief on a freshman comedy on CBS. She knows everyone. Everyone knows her. She has to get out.

She graduates early from high school and moves to a bigger town, as big as it gets in this state. At first, she freaks out. She can wander campus for a week straight and not run into a familiar face. She considers screaming back to the small town. She remembers she ran screaming from the small town in the first place and stays put. She gets used to not seeing anyone who knows her life story. She makes friends. She makes plans. She's going to stick around three years. Four, tops. Grad school on the coast, baby!

She moves across town thirteen times. She starts recognizing people in the grocery store. It's starting to become home. She's going to stay maybe another two years. Three tops.

She gets married. She lands gainful employment. Her parents run screaming from the small town. They buy a house. She buys a house. Stories are written, careers progress. There's discussion about maybe moving out of state. The country's explored. There's discussion about maybe moving across the river instead.

She begins to think she's cultivating a serious relstionship with the city, but won't admit it, because it's like confessing to a serious relationship with an all-around, unexciting nice guy. She knows that she could start a torrid affair with other, cooler cities, but this one makes her laugh and she can just be herself there...maybe they'll see other people. That's what traveling is, right? She has a fling with New York, but counts down the days until she gets home.

And then, one Wednesday in January, it hits her: she's been here ten years.

Congratulations, Albuquerque. I think I love you.