There is one tiny white clapboard house in some small town whose name I don't know that sits right next to a rundown grocery store. Usually I would probably look at something like that and think how dirty it was it how scared I would be to live somewhere so remote, next to unsavory looking businesses, but during our morning drive, that little house looks cute and quaint and I can picture settling there and walking over to the dusty grocery in the morning for some eggs or milk.
Maybe one day we'll brave the daily commute on those back roads (the bus doesn't stop there so we'd have to drive every day) and leave the city for some land and a chicken coop with room for our dogs to run and hypothetical kids to play.
(But in reality, one must ask, how close is the nearest Target?)
See what I mean? Dreamy.