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  • I currently live in apartment E4 somewhere in the Upper East Side. The place in the picture is not E4, but the first "apartment" I moved to when I moved to NYC, and it's the place where I met M.

    See the little window? That’s the storage space where M had his inflatable mattress at. See the door on the right? That’s were I slept, on another inflatable mattress, sharing the room with a very peculiar Chinese-French-Italian-English speaking Chinese lady who teaches French literature somewhere upstate NY (I couldn’t even complain on Skype, she would have understood every word, in any language I could have chosen). The mess in the front was the “bedroom” of a Turkish dancer, who spoke in a funny English and who at some point gave me some weird ballet flats and a shirt from her huge rack of stage clothes, on the left. That mass of clutter on the right behind the ladder is an indescribable mass of stuff, including two burners, the closest thing to a kitchen available in the apartment.

    The transition from the above "apartment" in Bed-Stuy to the other in the Upper East Side has been the best two weeks of my life. I told M "you look like the only normal person in this dump: let's move out together." Little did I know the apartment-hunting would have turned into dating, and that the tiny studio apartment we managed to find -- E4 -- wouldn't have been too tiny at that point. It's been our home ever since, even if it's crooked, shaky and too humid to be true.
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