More than a few years back, an old friend of mine from El Paso spent some time in Houston. He was there for tests at MD Anderson hospital. At night, he stayed at his sister's house. She lived in a well-managed, well-manicured, gated community just outside the city.
"At first, it was great," he said. "You could set your watch by when the paper hit the porch every morning, or when the street sweepers swooshed by."
Yet, by the end of the week, he was nearly crazy. He couldn't wait to get to the hospital every day to get more bad news.