I live on an old growth street in an old growth neighborhood, in a suburb of Trenton, which is New Jersey's state capital. Now, Trenton is not, nor has it ever been, your usual state capital. Traditionally, it was just as much a major industrial city as it was a seat of politics. Today, it's primarily a rust-belt relic; a miniature Cleveland. Trenton had a great steel mill, Roebling Steel, which, at one time, supplied cable to all the great suspension bridges in the world. It closed in 1974. Magic Marker had their factory here, as well as Champale. Demag-DeLaval built massive turbines for naval ships (including the one I served on, back then it was just known as DeLaval). Now, there are only ghosts.
Trenton's greatest resource nowadays would be gangs. The Crips, the Bloods, MS-13, you name it, they have branch offices here. The city itself is very small, when you think of it, only eight square miles...but it's mostly slums now, and it's getting worse. It's all very sad, really.
My neighborhood, in one of the townships surrounding Trenton, is basically of the white, buzz-cut, VFW stripe. The town and the prevailing culture's overwhelmingly Catholic-the natural outgrowth of Trenton's Italian and Irish communities pushing out into the suburbs in the '50s and '60s. For all intents and purposes, it strikes me as being a 1950s version of Queens, before the populations shifts. Very Catholic, very provincial, very fish-fry at the local firehouse.
I'm comfortable here, so I'm 6 of 10. It ain't my home, though.
