That bright little apartment

When I first moved to New York, my friends and I shared a one-bedroom apartment with a pitbull named Penelope. It was very clearly her apartment and not ours. After a month of Penelope’s antics-–and having to feed her raw chicken three times a day-–we finally moved into our own apartment! It was far from perfect, but it really felt ours. Our bright little sitcom apartment. I could always count on coming home and laughing with my friends. Outside our door I spoke spanish with our neighbors, learned to use a laundromat, and bought groceries at a little store under the Williamsburg bridge. On the best days I walked to a pool the size of a lake and swam then headed home to throw little dinner parties.

So, while my current apartment far exceeds this little one in the categories of square-footage, amenities, convenience, and non-toxicity, I think the bright little apartment is worthy of a blog post.

What's that, tucked in the trees? Why, it's apartment number two!
What’s that, tucked in the trees? Why, it’s apartment number two!
Meet its former residents.
Meet its former residents.
The glorious morning light!
So many windows, so much light.
The light made even solo breakfasts exciting, and the vintage dishes–-a gift from Marika's grandmother–- are the most beautiful things I've ever eaten from.
The light made even solo breakfasts exciting.
This bookshelf? Anda found it on the curb!
This bookshelf? Anda found it on the curb.
Outside there were always unattended cars playing really good salsa and reggaeton.
Outside there were always unattended cars playing really good salsa and reggaeton.
The school down the block had the biggest blacktop!
The school down the block had the biggest blacktop!
And this was the view from one of our subway stops.
And this was the view from one of our subway stops.
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That bright little apartment

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