135 MacDougal St. #3A

When I first walked in, I sat down on one of the double beds provided for married students attending NYU and cried.  I couldn't decide what to cry about more: the shit-brown walls(pardon my language, but that really was the color!), the 480 square feet, the tiny closet, the big cockroach in the bathtub, the elf size stove and refrigerator, the three floors I had just walked up, the glaring lack of any appliance that washes, or maybe the fact that I had overpacked just a wee bit.

(Entertaining friends)

 

And yes, that is the whole apartment! Robert grew to love the place, but I never did.

When we went back to NYC a few weeks ago, we walked by our old apartment on MacDougal.  I was elated to see that I was proven correct--the building was about ready to fall down--it was boarded up and everything. I felt vindicated!  And I got to tell Robert that I was right about our old hell-hole of an apartment.  I felt giddy!  That is, until I read the sign.  Well, I'm off to google asbestos poisoning...