So ends my second attempt to live in the big city. While we all wait for what happens next, here are some interesting facts:

I moved twice to the big city five years apart: 2005 to Nashville, 2010 to Philadelphia.

I got to Nashville on Labor Day. I left Philadelphia on Labor Day.

In each town I lived eight months.

In each town I spent less time away than I did living there. I think I calculated that I spent less than eight weeks out of eight months actually in residence in Nashville. In Philadelphia I bet it was less than four full weeks out of eight months.

For every end a beginning.

The city is a strange place.

I am a man of leisure. I don’t like surprises. I like things to stay on a nice, even keel. I want to know what’s coming next so I can figure out how to respond. I always plan ahead.

The city doesn’t let you do that. It will maintain for days, then suddenly throw something unexpected at you to see how you react.

Saturday I was entirely at peace with my new home. I love my place. I love my neighborhood. I love my city.

Sunday I saw a taxi knock down a crazy guy in an intersection. Everybody looked OK. It shook me up.

Today I got rear-ended by another taxicab. He slipped on the snow. Like I nearly did. Barely cosmetic damage. No harm, no foul.

I saw a pedestrian today smack a car on the trunk while the car was waiting to make a legal turn because it was blocking her access to the shoveled path onto the sidewalk. I saw another pedestrian walk right out in front of traffic against the light and then get upset when the driver honked to back him up.

Everyone needs to chill out. Make allowances for the sheer number of people crammed into a small space in bad weather with tricky conditions. Just be cool.

No chance. The city demands more.