I went back in the 80's to see my uncle, after my grandparents died. The house was falling down around him, but the rest of the neighborhood was in a similar state (still poor, still all black). When I knocked, a girl on a stoop across the street told me "the white man that rides the bicycle" wouldn't be back for a while. So I hung around. Because I was there during the week, instead of the weekend, it felt different. But, I was a lot older, too. I still felt at home, though.

A few years later the church across the screen bought my uncle's house and made it a parking lot. It was a good deal for them, since the house had been condemned by then. I haven't been back to my home city, but I did look at the street on google street view. Made me sad.