As we turn the corner from the Upper Riverside Drive onto 160th Street in Washington Heights, the intricate but repetitive brickwork of the apartment palace lulls us into a dream in which we hear the droning, distorted guitars of Spacemen 3. This was the “Heroin” of our youth, the soundtrack of delirious, pretentious ambivalence for everything society has to offer. Can you hear it now, whispering in your ear? If not, here’s a translation: “Fuck the 1960s! Welcome to a real revolution!”