move to the only city where you can find a job in the field you studied, move into the least expensive apartment you can find that fits you and your three friends uncomfortably, each participate in the cityās economy by getting a job, frequent the neighborhood stores, use public places, meet people new and old to the neighborhood. Talk to your grandpa, who moved out of Brooklyn 50 years ago, of all the good things about the place where he grew up. His dad was an immigrant, he was a native, your dad was a visitor, youāre a transplant, but maybe your future kid will be a native New Yorker.
Your friend who grew up in the east village points to a corner where his favorite restaurant has closed. Points to a bodega covered in flowers, says it used to have bulletproof glass and a turnstile in the doorway. From a pier on the east river, next to the newly built soccer courts swarming with kids, you can see clear across the skyline to the reflective towers of Hudson Yards, Billionaires Row, that shitty glass Jenga building, all kind of hovering over the place like empty storm clouds.
You used to hang art for rich people in those rooms, and you hated it. You've been here longer than some of these buildings, briefer than more. Now, in a two apartment house, you live above your landlord in the place her son and grandson used to live. She didnāt raise the rent last year. Crown Heights used to be called something different. I heard Wall Street was named after the barricade settlers built to keep Native Americans out. Fuck, the west village used to be cool?
At the cafe, owned by a guy who grew up here, you drink whatever kind of beverage you like because he really doesnāt care, as long as you pay for it.