This poem describes my first apartment on Union Square. I always had to live near a vacant lot or ruined building. Couldn’t stand that finished feeling. Rent? A prayer I prayed each month.
Early 1980s in The Village: From sleeping in a closet to having a walk-in closet—at a stupidly cheap rent
Getting a roommate was a practical decision for my landlord—why not make some money out of the unused space? It was a perfect solution for me, too. I was new to NY and had no social life, so living with an elderly woman didn’t cramp my style.
We went away one weekend. I don’t remember where we went but I do remember we left the windows open so our apartment wouldn’t be too stifling when we got back. And I’ll never forget the sight we saw when we returned…
Madonna’s story: “The tall buildings and the massive scale of New York took my breath away. I felt alive. But I was also freaked out by the smell of piss and vomit everywhere, especially in the entryway of my third-floor walk-up.”