In my dream, my boyfriend and I and I were walking around East 103rd street (a street in Canarsie), and boarded the L train there. When we were approaching Bushwick, we held hands, because we anticipated the trouble we might run into with the people who boarded. To my surprise, a bunch of hipsters were standing in the Halsey Street station, instead. When I woke up, I just wanted to cry.
I know that not all native New Yorkers belong here, and that many transplants are successful, but there's something about the dream that really hurt me. A hipster is not a transplant. When they go, in 5, 10 years, who knows how high rents will be and how shitty everything is - all of the Starbucks, all of the bars, all of the pretension but none of the money.
And on a lighter note, here's this.