For the past eight years I've lived in or around New York City. I've taken a variety of paid and unpaid jobs, such as "well-paid number cruncher," "starry-eyed convert to the mass of hot air known as 'the dot com industry circa 2001,'" "unemployed schmuck who goes to art openings only for the free drinks," "occasional columnist for a music magazine that Americans have never heard of," "ramen-eating grad student," "record label intern paid in free CDs," and now, "severely-in-debt paper pusher."
Grace C. and her fiancee Grace R. live together in an apartment with central air and a dishwasher, which, in our neck of the woods, means "luxury living." We like dogs but not cats, but we can't have either in our apartment, so we make do with a roommate who empties the dishwasher, buys toilet paper and gives us free wine. Life is good.