Today I moved from my little east village apartment to my little west village apartment and I could not be more smug about this development. Little west village apartment is perfect- it has a shower that lives in the bathroom and a stove, and a refrigerator, and a microwave, and a dresser, and a Belgain beer bar across the street…

I could go on, but I would start to get boring, telling you over and over again how charmed I am by my neighborhood, plus as I was in the process of writing this, a piece of the ceiling in the hallway outside my door fell down and dumped a big pile of very old and very scary looking celing parts onto the ground.

So I guess it’s not perfect.

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