Here's her story:
"One day several years ago while wandering Manhattan I spotted a postcard that immediately grabbed me. It featured a scenic city street, all fire-escapes, graffiti, buildings the color of the Southwest, a community garden. Something about that photo resonated. I bought it for a quarter, went home and taped it on the wall of my cramped Greenwich Village “two bedroom,” a shoebox apartment with a half-partition dividing my space from my roommates: a couple and their rabbit, Morrissey. When I’d first moved in, I loved the place. Eventually, though, it became hard to write late into the night with my roommate’s TV blaring and Morrissey, cute as he was, didn’t smell of flowers. We were all on top of each other; I’m sure I was annoying, too. Meanwhile, the postcard stayed on the wall of my bedroom next to the exposed heat pipe. Pigeons serenaded nightly. Three weeks later I spotted an ad on Craigslist for a below-market, rent stabilized studio nearby. When I went to check it out I was shocked: the apartment was in the middle of the same block pictured on my postcard." |
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