The More Things Change

"That place used to be a French Roast," I say, pointing to a hideous new, faux-50's style diner complete with gaudy neon and chrome trimmed linoleum tables. "One night when I first moved here, I sat in there and ate a creme brûlée and watched it snow these beautiful, huge fuzzy flakes. New York is changing so much."

A few blocks further down we find the actual French Roast, still bustling and cute and very much a going concern.