On going places, or not really

Complacency and stagnation are just the names I call comfort and home's a dirty word too, I think, a place to be fled once it starts to feel too real, too real like this city is.
Whether running from comfort is a courageous act, a challenge, a way of extracting the best in me or a case of my own half assed pop psychology getting the best of me is what I can't quite figure out.
Vancouver, you're different but familiar. Cooler, not montreal's warm embrace but then again I did sometimes say was suffocating in that city's sticky heat. The trees here are greener-like they've been that way for so long without interruption that they've forgotten what it's like to be cold and fall apart from changes in the seasons. the air is cleaner too, or I'm just noticing the absence of Portuguese barbecue's distinctive nose from my surroundings. I walked the city-once, twice- and no one ever felt I was familiar and so I never felt compressed