After pounding the pavement for open house invites, befriending a Russian transplant named Vladimir, and being entranced by the smoke-and-mirrors of Craigslist, Ben and I finally decided to move to..(drumroll)…..(anticipation buil—no?—fine) the 1st floor of our current building.
What does this mean?
Well for you, absolutely nothing. But for me it means an extra 200-square-feet of living space, a spare bedroom—which I’m sure we’ll litter with bike grease and fitness hocus pocus—and an 800-square-foot patio (pictured), however most of it is coated in weeds and other unsightly shrubbery, but who cares it’s a freaking patio in New York City that hasn’t been barfed on by some meathead straight off the Turnpike.
Other amenities include: espresso-stained wood parquet floors, a larger-ish kitchen, and we’re across from the laundry room so it’s almost like having a W/D in the unit. Almost. (But in New York if you can get “almost” you’re as good as gold.)
Vlad, it was nice knowing you. I’m sorry about your sister Rozalina, things will work out.
