A return visit lets two versions of a place share the same pavement.

Returning somewhere produces a strange double exposure. You walk down a street seeing what is in front of you and what used to be there at the same time, and neither image will hold still. The bakery is a phone shop and is also, for you, still a bakery, because memory does not politely step aside for current information. That overlap is disorienting and it is also the only way to feel how much time has passed.

When you go back somewhere, say the old version out loud to whoever is with you. Naming what stood there keeps the two images companionable instead of letting one argue with the other.