omg.
It is almost a joke! I think the writer is gunning for a job to write a book on an imaginary Stepford city.
I was waiting for the ‘my children were invited to pick blueberries in the neighbor’s back yard so she could bake them blueberry muffins to bring home for our breakfast while we cooked eggs that we got from their hens’ nests that were freshly laid’.
And where was the old grandfather figure sitting in his rocking chair on his front porch with a pocket full of Werther’s caramels to give to her children, as he rocked gently back in forth in his cardigan while they regaled him with stories of how school was while they walked home?
Love your addition. Right on.
It has to be AI fiction writing.