There's a street in the East Village where a portion of the sidewalk suddenly and briefly becomes a greenhouse, spilling off of shelves, out of storefront windows, and into the path of walking people. Like a Spring flower the atmosphere blooms briefly and brightly then withers away in the memory to be replaced by the next then the next and the next. Everything is for sale and none of it is necessary. What you want is beyond your reach. What you really need you left at home.