Did I mention why my new apartment came on the market so quickly? The previous tenant was evicted, as noted by the red-lettered Marshal’s Legal Possession notice taped to the front of my door. So thank you, Robert Lee Farley, wherever you are.
After work, I boarded the A train at Penn Station, which took precisely 30 minutes to arrive at my Dyckman Street stop, a 15-minute increase over my old commute, as I had predicted. I picked up the keys from the super, Rodolfo, and took some snapshots of the place.
I’m only now noticing in this view that the wood floor is a different style in the front hall than it is in the main room. Here it’s of a “bowling lane” school of cut and color. That’s a closet on the left; I was standing in the front doorway of the apartment when I took the photo.
In a closer view of the main room, shown above, you can see the floor is of “basketball court” model parquetry. The kitchen stuff is on the left-hand wall: gas range and oven, fridge, countertop, drawers and cabinet space. You’ll also recognize the de rigueur steam heater in the corner. There’s an air conditioner mounted in the right-hand window, but I didn’t test it. The view from the windows is of a large courtyard, a small garden area of which is accessible to people who live in my building.
Above is the nondescript bedroom.
In the bathroom, the super repaired and re-grouted the shower tiles. It previously looked as if a miniature Kool-Aid Man had attempted to burst through the wall. I like that there’s a window in here; it’s cracked open because the whole place was just painted. The arrangement of the showerhead and taps is quirky. They’re placed not at the head or foot of the tub, but on the facing wall in the middle.
There are some additional things I haven’t previously mentioned that I like about this place. First, the building has a name. Remember back when they chiseled the name of a building on a keystone centered high on its face or above the door? Mine is called Lucille.
Second, the apartment is on the top floor of the building, so there should be less noise, although I think it also means it’ll be hotter in the summer. It’s a tradeoff I can live with.
Third, there are a lot of Hispanics in my neighborhood. Judging by the after-work waves of people, it’s almost exclusively so. Two words: taco trucks. They’re like ice cream trucks, but with, you know, tacos and stuff. I saw several, parked at the curb, including one boasting a neon sign that read “Chalupas.” I think I’ll enjoy the neighborhood.