half-baked

I started reading the "White Tiger" and one expression caught my eye - "half-baked cities for half-baked people".
It dawned on me why I felt so gloomy in the past few months.
I have been living in a "half-baked" city for a year. A place as hollow as the skelletons of the numerous concrete mamooths rising every night, shadowing thousands of lives. Full of thousands of half-baked people, whoose only purpose in life is life itself.
Hollow. That is the word a friend used describing another artificially created city. With no history. No spirit.
Sometimes the city I live in is, as the Red Hot Chilly Pepers sing "my only friend". Sometimes it is the best friend of all, because it will listen to your pains and offer you the consolation of its pulsating streets, the smile of its facades and the spirit of its people.
Not if it is half-baked. Not if it is hollow.
I pray that I will never have to live in a city like this for too long.