The Loneliness of Longing for Other People’s Apartments

By Kristen Radtke

I’ve lived alone in many apartments in the past decade, from a tiny, splintering studio in Iowa crawling with millipedes to a massive, cheap prewar in Kentucky that leaked each time it rained. I loved these apartments, the pride and comfort that came from opening a cabinet and finding things that belonged only to me. When I moved to New York, I signed a lease on the first place I found because I’d been warned that finding an apartment there was “impossible.” The tiny, bright rooms felt like an initiation into a city that I’d come to know, through television, as a place where people very often lived alone.

See the rest of the story at newyorker.com

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