Consider yourself lucky. I don’t give tours of my living quarters to just anyone, mainly reserving them only for people who ask for them. But I woke up feeling sprightly and willing to share, and like a good host, I’ve come to meet you on my doorstep.
Except, as you’ve noticed, I don’t have a doorstep, so here we are on a busy street in Downtown Brooklyn. You may think these people out here are queuing for my autograph, but I must be honest and tell you that they are simply waiting for the bus. Notice the bus stop to your right – it was much more noticeable last week when it was draped in yellow police tape. I’m still waiting to find out what exactly happened.
You’ve been waiting outside for how long? Oh, forgive me, I forgot to tell you that in order to buzz my apartment, #2, you need to press #1. #1 for #2. It makes sense only in a truly backward world. Anyway, come on in. Oh, and if you could, give the front door a good yank shut behind you. It doesn’t close all the way on its own, you know, the way a door is supposed to do. And the last thing I want tomorrow is to have to climb over an unconscious horizontal body to retrieve my mail.
Now, this building is prewar. As to which war that refers to, I’m not entirely sure. But I think this hallway was the inspiration for the climactic scene in Taxi Driver, if that gives you any idea of anything.
Here we are, home sweet home. As I lead you into the kitchen, the first thing you’ll notice is the washer and dryer. I am indeed one of the lucky ones in New York City who has these actually inside the flat, even if it means having to hook the washer up to the kitchen sink, because that’s actually what it means.
More evidence of my large livin’ would be the dishwasher, which is a downright luxury and possibly the nicest thing I own when it’s working. Then it becomes a joke, as you may remember from this photograph.
Do you need to use the loo? It’s down the hall and to your right. Fortunately the loo is in the best condition it has possibly ever been in, which definitely wasn’t the case a few months ago. Mildew is real! Tell your children. My arms still ache from scrubbing it off the ceiling.
Oh, and careful not to trip on that loose piece of floor jutting out of place, courtesy of our super, who breaks two things for every one thing he repairs.
Now I hate this tour short, but I’m afraid reality will set in faster than the sun sets down, and I could really use a walk, so I’ll meet you outside.