Loud, lively exchanges between open windows on opposite sides of the street. The alluring smell of Plazinsky’s Coney Dogs wafting up from the corner of Lafayette and 3rd. Kids on the sidewalk in just their underwear, innocently splashing in the puddles and spray of an open hydrant. That was our summer.
These days the double-glazed windows remain shut tight: rumbling air con units keep their faceless occupants enclosed, cool and safe – the only sound now rising up from the baking August streets, the thumping bass of passing car stereos.
It’s still the same neighbourhood, but it isn’t the old neighbourhood.