... OF BETTER BOROUGHS
When you're looking for apartments in New York City, Craigslist is the source of both high hopes and deep disappointments. You can see what wonderful things the world has to offer only to see them turn to dust as you reach out for them.
When my former partner and I were moving up here from Atlanta, we swore we would spend a weekend on the Net and fucking SLAY the Craigslist apartment section and land our dream home. After several frustrating weeks, she abandoned the project, and we had to eat a huge broker fee for a decent place in an okay neighborhood in West Queens. Two years, two broken hearts and one failed relationship later, I found myself back on the streets making similar vows not to pay brokers fees and, generally, cursing my lot.
This time, I was accompanied by a thrifty Midwestern woman at my law school who was not only able to fucking SLAY Craigslist, but she landed us - and a third roommie - the biggest and dopest (not a word, I know) three-bedroom, two-story apartment with a spiral staircase in the living room, a front porch and -- get this -- a backyard with a garden and a patio. A backyard. In New York City. Pinch me... or let me keep sleeping because this is a nice dream.
It's in Brooklyn, about a five-minute walk from Prospect Park, which makes Central Park look like a rusty-ass, bargain-basement, cruise ship after the food ran out at the free lobster and whiskey party.
Of course, being the man-boy among us, I get what amounts to the Harry Potter broom-closet room. No matter. For me, this is a monumental and new beginning. I can leave the failed relationship in the past. As I write this, a group of cops is harassing some fella on the street just below my window in Spanish Harlem. I should stick my head out and watch for Fourth Amendment violations.
Until I move to the better borough ... there will be no sleep 'til Brooklyn.
When you're looking for apartments in New York City, Craigslist is the source of both high hopes and deep disappointments. You can see what wonderful things the world has to offer only to see them turn to dust as you reach out for them.
When my former partner and I were moving up here from Atlanta, we swore we would spend a weekend on the Net and fucking SLAY the Craigslist apartment section and land our dream home. After several frustrating weeks, she abandoned the project, and we had to eat a huge broker fee for a decent place in an okay neighborhood in West Queens. Two years, two broken hearts and one failed relationship later, I found myself back on the streets making similar vows not to pay brokers fees and, generally, cursing my lot.
This time, I was accompanied by a thrifty Midwestern woman at my law school who was not only able to fucking SLAY Craigslist, but she landed us - and a third roommie - the biggest and dopest (not a word, I know) three-bedroom, two-story apartment with a spiral staircase in the living room, a front porch and -- get this -- a backyard with a garden and a patio. A backyard. In New York City. Pinch me... or let me keep sleeping because this is a nice dream.
It's in Brooklyn, about a five-minute walk from Prospect Park, which makes Central Park look like a rusty-ass, bargain-basement, cruise ship after the food ran out at the free lobster and whiskey party.
Of course, being the man-boy among us, I get what amounts to the Harry Potter broom-closet room. No matter. For me, this is a monumental and new beginning. I can leave the failed relationship in the past. As I write this, a group of cops is harassing some fella on the street just below my window in Spanish Harlem. I should stick my head out and watch for Fourth Amendment violations.
Until I move to the better borough ... there will be no sleep 'til Brooklyn.