Two weeks ago I stepped off the 1 Train in the Upper West Side, my memories molded from the spring’s adventure. Twenty blocks can make a difference. I ascended into a scene much less Lululemon Yoga mat and much more Laundromat. 96th Street sidewalk littered with newspapers and gum ground into paste, a fading portrait studio. 24 Hour Photo. Produce stands and flower markets still gleaming on the corners. The proximity and the smell strongly recalled Uptown in Chicago. Broadway here was dirty, was tired. Amsterdam, just a little ways over, burst at the seams with delis and bagel bakers. As I walked by with my leather backpack I locked eyes with a dashing Jewish boy standing in line inside.