I now own four black skirts, four black tee shirts, three black sweaters, five pairs of black pants, seven pairs of black shoes, and two black messenger bags.  When I arrived a year ago I’m pretty sure I was wearing pink.

I do most of my furniture shopping on the sidewalk the night before trash collection.

Sidewalk Treasure

Also much of my art supply shopping.

The last time I ate at a friend’s house, there were eight of us: two Americans, two from China, two Brazilians, one Argentinian, and one from Paris/Brazil/the Bronx.  Dinner conversation was in five languages, I only understand one and a half of them, and I had a great time.

If the subway doesn’t go there, I walk.

Looking East from my roof

My local convenient store is owned by a nice Pakistani man and his grown son.  There is a 7-Eleven two doors closer.  Why would I go there?  My hardware store is also family owned.  They scream at each other and I find that comforting.  I can barely squeeze through the aisles.  They must be violating 27 fire department codes.  I don’t care.  They have the best drain cleaner for $5.

I’ve realized that I don’t, in fact, live alone.  I live with family.  They’re called doormen.

My apartment is about 400 square feet.  I’m wondering if it’s not a little too big for me.

The view from my apartment

I’ve given up on Whole Foods and have embraced Trader Joe’s.  (Except for Diet Coke and peanut butter.  Then I’m off to Gristede’s.)

I think New Yorkers are really nice people – caring, eager for conversation and connection, and generally quite polite.