(New York, USA) - I take Hiroshi, my French bulldog, for an hour walk each day around the East Village, where I’ve lived now for five years. We start our daily trek from our home, which is right below Union Square, east of Broadway between Saint Marks and Thompkins Square Park.

A casual stroll around the neighborhood is like taking a tour through a living museum, a place that houses artifacts of cultural history and boasts being the birthplace of New York’s artistic counterculture movement. However, now the dust of the decades rests on every surface and the lack of maintenance thereof reflects off grimy windows. New posters are haphazardly pasted over old surfaces and soon peel to reveal generations of previous posts, symbolic of a time forgotten and a wealth of inspiration taken for granted. These are the halls of concrete that cultivate a spirit of creative independence forged through the struggle for survival and recognition.

If you spend any amount of time in the East Village, you’ll quickly notice the defining features of the community: nostalgic establishments, subculture peacocks, colorful networks of graffiti, and working-class citizens. I’ve come to believe that when monumental occurrences take place in a town’s history, that spirit lives on through time and the gravity of that location pulls individuals of a similar make. New movements are born and creative growth is fostered and there is true cultural preservation.

As I walked along with Hiroshi toward Thompkins Square Park, I pass the cafe where parts of the screenplay, RENT, were written. It’s incredible to know that the characters in that play, so iconic of the AIDS-conscious 90s, are merely examples of people I pass on the street, still today. I make my way around the park where the walls of each street are decorated with tags and wheatpastes, all placed by individuals who have a desire to leave behind their mark. It’s not uncommon to see a van, covered in graffiti, parked neatly within a row of absolutely normal, relatively boring cars.

On the corner of 7th and Avenue B sits Manitobas, a bar founded by “Handsome Dick,” front man of legendary punk band, The Dictators. This establishment and Joe Strummer’s memorial, located on a wall just down the street, are reminders of a rebellious spirit too great to ever live solely on a CD or t-shirt. It is also on this block that the Thompkins Square Park Police Riot took place in 1988, after anarchists had claimed the park for the homeless. A full-fledged war escalated on the night of August 6th. I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t feel this spirit almost every time I walk pass this point, although belligerent cops have now been replaced by a truck that brings food for the homeless.

Making our way back toward 2nd Avenue, we usually like to pass a Ukrainian soul food restaurant that has been an institution of the East Village for over 50 years. The place, founded by a refugee who fled a German war camp, started as a candy shop and bears the name Vaselka, the Ukrainian word for rainbow. They serve pirogis and kielbasa, have free wireless Internet, and are open around the clock.

Then walking along 2nd Avenue a constant flow of people pours out from Saint Mark’s Place where GG Allin; Gallery 51X; Klaus Nomi; Lenny Bruce, the country’s first cooking school; and the Ramones’ hangout, Trash & Vaudeville, all line up on this tour of cultural history. I can’t deny it: this Mecca to a vast population of subculture icons summons an undeniably nostalgic feeling and revives an irrefutable spirit of creative empowerment in your soul. It is no wonder the writing on the walls of this street pointedly questions why corporate franchises like Chipotle and Pinkberry now currently reside here. Clearly the residents of this neighborhood have creative and not so subtle ways of showing their love and localism for this unique neighborhood.

Around a pigeon-populated corner, Hiroshi and I, graze past benches where drifters nod off by the open iron gates of Saint Mark’s Church. The church, as much as every other building in the community has been used as a performance space, even rumored as being the location of Patti Smith’s first live show. The brick patio around the church is the summer meeting ground for groups of crusty punks, who gather under trees with brown bags.

Back at my building, my Super waits downstairs for nothing in particular, smoking a cigarette. He’s lived on this block since he was 9 years old. Hiroshi and I finished our daily walk around the East Village. We love it, we love the people and I hope that in my time I can do right by this place. I don’t think I’ve left much of a mark here yet, I haven’t painted my name or led any protests, I haven’t written a book or played any music, but I cannot deny that walking these streets everyday, I feel the irresistible call to action.