I moved to New York City’s East Village 18 years ago, long after its gritty punky heyday. While I missed out on the Ramones and the Talking Heads gigging at CBGB’s, the hood was still a cauldron of art, music, fashion and activism, with just a soupcon of edgy danger. It’s now widely regarded as a cliché of New York City gentrification. Today, CBGB’s is an unaffordable (for non-profiteers like me) John Varvatos boutique, but with the old dive’s graffiti incorporated into the decor.
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