It is such a shopworn cliché: the city-dweller cannot sleep once away from all the familiar city noises. The country/small town is simply too quiet and bucolic to allow rest! (See: John Cusak in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.)
It's a cliché because it's true, goddamn it.
It's 2 a.m. and I am being kept awake by crickets. There seems to be a cricket-noise convention upon the front lawn of my building in Cincinnati, and the damn things won't let me rest, although I am exhausted. I am very seriously missing the random neighborhood noises of Chicago (loud bangs that are either a powerful firework or a gunshot, cars careening down our alley, reggaeton from the neighbors' backyard, police sirens at top volume) and the sleep that accompanies these noises. If someone would send me a mixtape of soothing city sounds, I would gladly embrace this simplistic, overly-broad characterization used by somewhat lazy writers if I could get some damn sleep.