What if I left Hialeah?

I am in the process of starting a new business. I originally wanted to start it in good old Hialeah, but the type of business I am to open, a party supply store, a small one, has too much competition here a.k.a. Party City. The company i am using to finance the project, also has made it quite clear that the per capita income of my beloved city is too low to support my project; especially with such stiff competition. This little knock in the head made me look at my hometown without the love goggles I usually have on for it. Like drinking wine and eating stinky cheese, Hialeah is an acquired taste. It has come a long way since my family first moved here instead of Kendall or Westchester, along with the rest of my snotty Colombian family when they came over in the 1980's. My meat and potatoes grandfather, patriarch of our branch of the family, led us here to live amongst the Cubans and their culture. I have never really lived anywhere else.
So, I began to look at my fair city, the one that on paper is so unsuitable for my enterprise. I tried to look past the numerous Starbucks that have shot up, the brand new Olive Garden and Longhorn Steakhouse and began to look at the people who go to these and the myriad Cuban cafeterias and Palacios De Los Jugos that dot the landscape within these few iconic square miles. And then I saw them, the people, amongst who I have lived for all this time, it seems for the first time. I saw the worn faces of the mothers tugging along their children for whom they work all those long hours at the factory for. I saw the car washers, dark from the sun, advertising bail bonds on their T-shirts while they vacuum your car, unable to get any other job because they have no papers or a rap sheet.  I saw the older cashier at Winn Dixie, about sixty, who gave me one coupon but not the other, one that probably gave me $5 off my next purchase, and whom I let have because she is old and still working as a cashier at Winn Dixie when she should be retired. She needs it more than me. I saw a lot of Dickies and blue work shirts smeared with grease, I saw a lot of jeans that were just too tight with a shirt to match. I saw a lot of pony tails and roots, and hoop earrings. Once in a while I would see a suit or a blouse and a pencil skirt, but that was usually in a bank or Victoria's Secret.
What I saw were working class, hard-working Americans who earn every dollar they make with blood sweat and tears to support their increasingly ungrateful kids. Kids, who had no idea what all their sacrifices in coming to this country and working these hard jobs have saved them from, war, poverty, a crushing class system or government. I saw pain and grit and occasionally joy and laughter from a raunchy joke. And I saw that I would have to leave Hialeah for my snotty party store, but I will stay here to live. Just to keep it real...
Goodnight.