Written by Rachel Kleinman on on June 29, 2011. Originally published in New York Press.
As Alison and I were discussing rent outside her three-bedroom, West 88th Street brownstone, an attractive brunette with a clipboard asked if we would be interested in makeovers. I dismissed her with the cynicism of a jaded New Yorker, though I was a 22-year-old who had only ever lived in a small New Jersey suburb and on an insulated college campus. Besides, I’d come to the city that afternoon for my first post-graduate apartment, not a conversation with a salesperson. Alison, a Manhattanite of two years, surprised me. “Sure,” she agreed. [Continue reading.]
Rachel A. Kleinman 