Paris, Michigan was built in the 1930s for a few dozen thousand more people, erm, beings than ever actually lived there. An Art Deco-style concrete jungle surrounded by a suburban ring of identical pre-fab houses set smack dab in the thumb of the Big Mitten.
The first generation of Parisians were the poor slobs who had gotten suckered into investing in the development. They raised their families there, watched their children move away to real cities, and most of them died there, forgotten people in a forgotten would-be city.
Just before Paris closed permanently, it underwent its first resurgence as an artist community. Open-minded humans and djinkies alike flocked there like it was a modern day Bohemia, reveling in free love, experimental music, and an essentially non-existent legal structure.
But as these things tend to go, the artists were followed by the speculators. The business people drove the original artists out but attracted a huge influx of investment to the would-be metropolis. Retail development was rampant with venture capitalists touting the value of the retro-urban aesthetics to anyone who would listen.
And then the Bubble burst.
The would-be neo-royalty left Paris in droves in search of barely existent jobs that would support the lifestyles to which they had become accustomed. Fortunately, at the same time, djinkie musicians and actors were rediscovering the former artist community. Work for djinkies had largely dried up in the era of reality television and corporate-manufactured boy bands and girl groups. So a handful of individuals who had saved liberally and invested wisely at the peak of their careers returned to Paris and bought up varying amounts of available property. The appeal of their former fame attracted others to Paris, giving the city a third chance at life.
As a part of this most recent resurrection, two different investors opened private supper clubs in an effort to leverage the burgeoning foodie craze. Their competition to serve the most exotic delicacies attracted not only wealthy diners, but also members of the Canadian food syndicates. In turn, both groups attracted humans and djinkies alike who were willing to cater to individuals with other, more questionable tastes.
Now, the inhabitants of Paris, Michigan struggle daily to carve out a portion of the new American dream without sacrificing too much of what is left of their souls.