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  • "I'm feeling cramped. Claustrophobic." I complained.

    "It is a small studio, and we've had a busy fall. It'll be OK now. No more guests." He countered.

    "Yes. But it's not the space. Or the guests we've had."

    "What is it then?"

    "It's this city. It's New York."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I cannot hear myself think here. I haven't had a single original thought since we moved here. It's killing me, it's driving me insane."

    "I'm not sure I understand."

    "We do, see, listen to and go to the same places as our friends or friends of our friends. There's the same quality of exuberance, the same tempo of conversations, the same definition of what is cool. Even the same type of clothes. It is choking me. It is almost, making me miss Jersey City."

    "You prefer being on the outside, looking inside?"

    "I thought I didn't, but I suppose I do."

    "What if we can find that in New York?"

    "Can we?"

    "We can try."

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