Notice: Moving is a heap of steaming bull-sheeyat.

I never finished that whole moving-life-upheaval saga.

It’s quite exhausting, even to just retell. I’ll get around to it eventually. Just…not now.

Today I saw two more places, both in Brooklyn. Both times, I arrived to find the super had forgotten my appointment. One was in Lefferts, one in Bed Stuy. One was right off the park, but with a terrible railroad view, the other too deep in the hood for my liking, but gorgeously renovated. Sigh.

I am completely, totally, and utterly over Brooklyn. Done. Scene. Fade.

So, I’m looking at: Harlem, Washington Heights, East Harlem *strapping on Kevlar vest*
Astoria, Long Island City and Sunnyside.

Note to universe, landlords, subletters, and other handy helpful types: I need a studio in Sunnyside Gardens for about a grand. I can pay the first six months up front. Get on it. I have suffered enough. Please and thanks,
Sid

You know, real estate is business for boneheads. This is what I have realized. Never in my life have I encountered a group of less professional, less punctual, less concerned, greedier bunch of human beings than I have in the house-hunting trade. And remember, I’ve had a low-rent, gym-bound personal trainer, so I’ve got decent figures for comparison.

Ah, feck it. What’s there to say? Happy Friday.


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