thirteen: my east village apartment.

view from my home... that's the 'freedom tower.' january 2012.

I live in apartment 13. I was not OK with this in the beginning. My favorite number is 8… and multiples of that. However, my sister’s favorite numbers are 13 and 7. Of course seven makes sense… you know, lucky “seven,” but who says lucky “13?”

As a suspicious person who has my weight put in the number 8 and all its multiples, I moved into apartment 13 with reservations. I also expected to fail.

There was failure, of course… but in the five years that this has been my home I have loved deeper than I have ever in my life, I have been intensely happy, I’ve lost more than I knew I could, I’ve grown as a person and a writer, and may have even learned a thing or two. Maybe.

Dear apartment 13, I love you with every ounce in my being.

“I’m as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange…” – Ryan Adams

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2 comments
  1. Satan said:

    oh me, i do, i do!
    13 IS my lucky number. i even have it tattooed on my finger.

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