Capital. Actually, I didn't have enough stuff to fill a moving van.
My roommate-to-be borrowed a dinky, dark blue, Chevy van with an
intense alignment issue and hyper-questionable brakage (dude).
We were scheduled to meet Person X to get the keys to our
one-and-a-quarter bedroom apartment at twelve o'clock noon, but, in
stereotypical musician/artist-fashion, we arrived just in time for
dinner at the corner deli.
Inspired as we were by our new surroundings, we were almost
magically able to hustle the keys to our new McCastle in Hell's
McKitchen from the deli owner's steely grasp. You could say we
reeled them in. We spent a lot of money and we spent a lot of time;
but, at that moment, we knew we had become Nueva Yorkinos! We
had the giant gashes - huge chunks of financial flesh ripped out and
away from our bank accounts by the broker fee - to prove it!
In the following weeks, we would take great pleasure in complaining
about all "fucking tourists." Har-dee har, indeed.
