It doesn’t fall apart overnight. It’s slow—so slow you barely notice at first. A garden left untended. A broken chair on the sidewalk. A bit of litter that never gets picked up. The little signs start to pile up. Fewer greetings. Less eye contact. Windows that stay shut, even on sunny days.
It’s not that people don’t care. Maybe they’re just tired. Or lost in their own worries. But something is slipping. A sense of togetherness, of pride, of looking out for each other. And as the weeds grow taller and the street grows quieter, you start to wonder—can it come back?
