When I close my eyes the old neighborhood becomes clear. Somebody left the front door open at the 100-year-old shotgun house next to the corner grocery store. There’s no apparent movement in the heat of the day, but just wait till the evening. That’s when you’ll see people walking past the luxurious hotel to their pied-à-terre just a short walk to the river, kids running down the banquette and the fellas just lounging around. Someone parked a bicycle in the alley near the dilapidated shed outside of the antique store in the alley. Whoever it was won’t be back any time soon because they are currently entranced by the sheer array of styles, eras and craftsmanship in the shop. The neighborhood is quietly breathing, alive and crowded with memories.