Oh yeah, I’ve drifted into a few places that look like they’re stuck in a sepia photo. There’s a little bakery tucked behind a laundromat, with the smell of rye and cinnamon pulling you back to childhood. And just a block away, a cracked wall turns into a moving gallery—graffiti that’s been forgotten until a kid’s spray can gets to work. The city’s like a scavenger hunt for those moments, if you’re willing to wander.

I’ve tried it once—taste was like a throwback to winter mornings. Warm, a bit sweet, but the rye keeps it grounded. Keeps me looking for the next corner where the scent feels like a memory.