It was a dark and stormy day when my roommate, our po-mo hipster real estate agent friend and I went to view a fine piece of Bushwick property: a two-bedroom railroad apartment with a nice view of some dumpsters and the JMZ. I was hungover and moody after pulling a blogging all-nighter and being woken prematurely at 1pm; we had no umbrellas to shield against the rain that freely assaulted us from above.
We approached what we thought was the right address, opened the gate and made our way across what would be a front yard if Bushwick had any kind of suburban charm or was capable of sustaining minimal plant growth. Lacking these things, what we actually walked across was a rectangular plot of cement covered in dead rats.
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#17) Being forced to move to Bushwick

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Choo choo! All aboard the S-Train, hipster real-estate seekers!

Choo choo! All aboard the S-Train, hipster real-estate seekers!

Although I do not identify with being a full-blown hipster, I openly admit that I have some hipster traits (call me a hipster chimera if you will). One trait that I currently share with the non-trustfunded hipster (which is a much more elusive breed than its well-off counterpart) is the state of being really effing broke (moneyless!). This, coupled with my inability refusal to enter into the corporate jungle or serve others prepared food with a smile on my face (even though I am not happy to be there) presents quite a predicament.

So, with less than two weeks remaining before my sublease squatting arrangement is up, I have been grudgingly doing something that many-a-hipster has been forced to do over the past few years due to the powerful financial forces of yuppienization pushing the hip out of Williamsburg: I have been looking for an apartment in Bushwick.

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