Just a personal story: spring (I think) of 1985. It was me, the lovely and ultra-hip Jo-Ellen Pryor, the equally ultra-punk Irit Lockspeiser and, I think, Jo-Ellen’s ever-fashionable friend Fawn Roth, all of us of Jamaica High School, coming into “the city” — what us Queens kids called Manhattan — and heading directly for Greenwich Village, where we danced with the Hare Krishnas in Washington Square Park (no, I’m not joking) and shopped madly at Love Saves the Day, which is being forced out of its home on 2nd Avenue and 7th Street by, according to Gothamist, a “scumbag landlord.”
All right, fair is fair: the “scumbag landlord” phrase is in the comments section of the post, not the post itself. Still, I wanted to draw attention to this terrible development. I bought an Andy Gibb bubblegum pack at Love Saves the Day on that day in 1985. I chewed it just a few years ago. I’m speechless. Why is my New York dying?