My hometown exists simply because it is the exact midway point between Memphis and Birmingham, so the Kansas City, Memphis and Birmingham Railroad put a stop there to service their trains.
Amory, Ms. is a small (7k inhabitants), fairly insignificant railroad town. My grandmother's father ran the hotel there at the turn of the twentieth century. She used to tell me about standing on the platform and waving at the passing troop trains... both WWI and WWII. The most exciting thing I can remember happening there in my lifetime was being awarded a lock on the Tombigbee Waterway. Three of my four grandparents were born and died in that tiny town. The fourth left on one of those troop trains and was fortunate enough to be brought back home for his burial. Most weren't so lucky in them days.
She is is a good town, with good people. They don't have a lot, but to say they are poor is a lie. They are happy, mostly. They are content with God, America, and Family. They work hard, play hard, and they care about one another, although they are distrustful of outsiders. You would be too if all you ever got was screwed by'em. Fun fact; the Apache word for stranger is the same as the Apache word for enemy. It is no different with someone from Amory.
Even I am looked at with suspicion there. I, who call it my hometown. That is because I never lived there. I was born there, and taken away for a job. Funny thing is, the last time I walked down Main Street in Amory an old men walked over to ask if I was "Big Bill's Boy?" I am not. I am in fact Big Bill's Grandson, but it about made me burst with pride, anyhow. Big Bill died in 1969. The family I have left in Amory are all in the ground, but one day I hope to go back, to lie with them, to make it "my hometown" for real.
In the meantime, I just call it home.