George Kay sits on a stool behind the counter of Yesterday, a yellow-framed shack of a place on Addison, a block from Wrigley, an overstuffed nostalgia store full of castoff culture. It’s been here since 1976, and still sells U.S. bicentennial memorabilia. It reminds me of the tiny house in Pixar’s “Up,” a modest structure profoundly out of place and time. Outside, on game days, SUVs and Teslas line up outside, silently idling. Inside Kay looks as if he’s been waiting to vent. He sounds like the hero of yet another “Body Snatchers” remake: “This whole neighborhood has been forced to live just for that ballpark. The people, they look like robots now — everyone looks the same, as if everyone is being replaced. And they are! To be fair, this place has been changing for years. But now, right now, in the past few months, anyone not connected to the Cubs is being shown the door. I grew up over on Cornelia. Now taxes alone around here are forcing people out. Old people can’t afford to stay. It’s like the end of Maxwell Street.”