We pulled off the freeway, hitting a network of streets and little brick façades that looked far more familiar. Once we passed the Sunoco station, lights blazing, I’d situated myself. My first time seeing the neighborhood in close to ten years, and nothing—and I do mean nothing—had changed. Same ugly stamp stickers on all the bus stop windows. Same little pop boutique on the corner, just before the block where the restaurant stood, a spindly mannequin in a sleek green sweater dress.
