"I couldn’t help but wonder, like an aging Carrie Bradshaw: Does everyone else daydream about the New York That Got Away? An afternoon in an art dealer’s enormous apartment, when he carelessly shuffled Warhol Polaroids, and they were all a grand. The apartment in the West Thirties was $380,000, but there were hookers. Now New York seems like every little thing in it is beyond priceless, and nothing will ever be yours. That’s absolutely true, and you never will have the things that you helplessly crave—but also it has always been like that.
Tomorrow’s yesteryears will be hazily golden, too. Now what we have left is an unwritten chronology of names of neighborhoods that white people have at various times actually said out loud that they feel “safe” living in. These days the squeegee men are back. They are working the cars on Atlantic Avenue, by Bedford, at the Armory. The squeegee men are “Prospect Heights adjacent.” The squeegee men are working “ProCro.” The squeegee men are “okay just maybe across the border into Crown Heights.” The squeegee men “can see Prospect Park” if they just look in the right direction.”
— Choire from his essay, ’Let Me Tell You About the Most Heartfelt $200 I Ever Made’.
you should read it RIGHT NOW.