I was walking in Queens borderline Brooklyn. Industrial borderline Gentrified. The brick facades, the graffiti, the quiet calm of a tree lined street on a block filled with houses whose inhabitants have lived here a long time. In print, bold and black on the side of an old factory, I read: Hipster Go Home. And I felt like all was right with the world. I felt like maybe there was hope. Maybe Brooklyn was still alive. The Brooklyn I knew.