We have less than 2 weeks left before we bid this apartment farewell forever. I am excited to move into a much larger space with a dreamy backyard, but man the nostalgic moments are kicking in. Vanderbilt is shining so brightly in this pandemic moment. With the street shut down to cars, we’ve hosted friends each weekend, joyfully stumbling around the street-festival vibes, before transitioning the evening up to our roof. When I arrived on Vanderbilt, it was all about the street’s potential. That was 9 very fast years ago. DIves like Soda and Branded were come as you are type places that offered comfort in lieu of atmosphere. Zaytoon’s dependably good but not great offerings set the bar for cuisine. But so much has changed. The street has taken on so much more personality. Ambitious and trendy mixes with quirky and thrifty in a perfect swirl. As the foot traffic increased so has the daringness of the chefs and bar owners. And now it’s a street anyone would call compelling, alluring, a place to miss dearly.

Sitting with friends and some drinks on the rooftop last Saturday, we couldn’t avoid the reality for long that this might be the last time we’d all do this together. The air was still, the sky had a glow so that the clouds stayed pronounced even as midnight rolled in. On many summer evenings the roof has a mystical energy from all side, this night did not disappoint.

We all grew a lot in the years I’ve lived her. We were single together, young and the summers meant so much. Much has changed (we’re all married or on our way to being) but over these years there’s no place that brought us all together like this roof. I keep mostly quiet when its brought up. I think I felt a tinge of guilt that I was the one ending the era, so to speak. I mostly just wanted to dead the conversation.