My Future NYC Brownstone
Years ago when I first moved to New York City for a one-year internship, I imagined renting a small yet glorious apartment on the top floor of a beautiful brownstone. My room would overlook a quiet yet busy street where I would set up my computer, stare out the window, and write brilliant things every night.
Instead I got a shitty run-down studio overlooking a courtyard which held nothing but thrown out furniture and metal trash cans covered in muddy snow. My apartment was so small that the one exterior wall had only two windows. One housed the window unit (a necessity, hands down), the other was covered with a huge iron fire escape gate to keep out intruders. As if the fire escape said intruder was climbing up wouldn’t plummet to the ground under his weight.
Not exactly the glamorous Carrie Bradshaw/ Sex And The City scene I was expecting.
