Nicole says hello

In the late, bleak-lit afternoons, I walked around the city. I walked uptown, a forced-revisit of my old neighborhood when the train, Barnard-and-Columbia-bound, stopped a full half-mile short.

Entire blocks of the neighborhood were unrecognizable.  Gone was the neighborhood butcher whose portly, pot-bellied owner doled out free slices of Bologna.  In the 10-year-or-so interim a Turkish cafe had arrived; so had a clean-cut hardware store.  Surprisingly, the Chinese restaurant was still there, buoyed by good reviews and Zagat referrals decorating its windows. Every time I return to the place, this eatery is the first thing I look for; when it disappears, the New York I knew, my New York, is gone.