A friend in Belgium, Erwin Keustermans, posted this on Facebook recently. I'm re- posting it here since it brings together the prosaic with the personal in a way that re-enchants the generic locale/ architecture.
"I was twelve when I decided to run away. Not that I was being mistreated or anything. I waited till dark, put a few coats over each other and slipped out of the house. I sat on the floor of this bus stop opposite the house (*) to think of a plan. Then walked for several hours and finally pushed an alarm button on a police station. The police came from a nearby town, gave me hot coffee, and brought me home, warning me that my parents might be a bit upset by their late call. Which they were. The net result was that a Latin test due shortly after that was delayed because of 'serious reasons' which my teacher sniffed at as being a particularly fishy excuse."