Broughton Street in the Morning

Leopold's Ice Cream on Broughton has been open since 1919. The vanilla bean is still the order. Inside it smells like waffle cones and old tile, and the line is half locals, half tourists who read the same blog post you did. Worth the wait.

The Paris Market down the block is a storefront that smells like beeswax and old books — hand-thrown pottery, imported curiosities, candles that actually smell good. Bull and Chippewa squares punctuate the walk. The Olde Pink House, rosy brick against morning haze, serves dinner better than lunch but looks best at this hour.

Forsyth Park's fountain at the east end catches early sun and throws spray that only the brave linger to enjoy. Broughton settles into its own particular comfort by mid-morning — the kind that makes you think about relocating, which is exactly what happened to about half the people who live here now.