For Sale, Cheap!

Finally, I've put it on the market. What an ordeal . . . Soon I'll update these dingy photos with the bright shiny ones that accompany my ads. 

What do you think I'm asking for this place? Come on, guess! Before I put post the electronic flyer with all the glorious details -- tell me what you think it's worth. 

But only if you're NOT a real estate broker.

Trick title

No, this isn't the dream apartment. The one you see here is the one in which I live now. Don't get me wrong, it's a terrific place -- a couple blocks from Union Square, sunny, and in a great building. But my dreams have changed.

The bridge pictured on this page is the Williamsburg. I can see it from my bedroom and living room; it's gorgeous at night, when it's lit up against the sky. The dream apartment looks out over a bridge, too: the George Washington. I want to exchange the sunrise for the sunset, I want to see the river, and I want to get uptown. 

Everybody has a dream apartment. Before I moved into this one, in 1989, I lived in the studio next door. At that time, my idea of nirvana was a bedroom. When the tenant who lived here moved out and the landlord was renovating, I used to get drunk at night and come over, barefoot in my white nightgown like Lady Macbeth, with my cat Hobbes in my arms. "Look, Hobbes!" I'd say. "We can put the piano over here, and the round table over here." There seemed to be so much room. I promised Hobbes I'd buy him a giant kitty condo, and when we moved in, I did.