West Paces Ferry

Every town has a street like West Paces Ferry. You know the one. The one that's looked at with dreamy eyes by just about everybody who doesn't live there. I think about it, and the above house in particular, sometimes to lull myself to sleep because it seems to me the quintessence of a happy, secure, contented life.

But one of my biggest problems is that I think of life as one big sociological experiment. I would love to shadow the owners of this house for just one day, only to see if they're genuinely happy. And all the owners of all the houses on this street, including the Georgia governor. I mean, who ARE these people? Martini-swilling socialites? Philanthropists? Philanderers? Young women who married the money? Old women who married the man, helped him make his fortune, but now are by themselves with nothing but a big house to haunt? Suicidal businessmen who are worried about a $10,000 a month mortgage? Are they lonely, or would like to be alone? And do they drive down other streets, thinking, "Now if I had that house, I'd be happy."?