Steve & I regroup at Blind Tiger (excellent kale salad, you guys) and talk about our afternoon showings, which will be our first in Brooklyn. After a week of thorough searching, and a day spent pounding pavement to no avail, we've realized that Kings County may be our best/only shot at an actually decent apartment under $2,800.
I check my phone and find three voicemails from a number I've never called. Each is about the same listing — a $3,100 flex-two in "lower Midtown East". Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take us in.
Day 17, 3pm: We emerge from the Montrose L station into sun-bleached Bushwick. "This is the farthest I've ever been from the shire," Steve half-whispers.
Apartment No. 9-10: Bushwick
Day 17, 3:30pm: We meet up with Rich the broker, a shockingly coherent 20-something wearing a hoodie and hiking boots, and climb two stories to the first apartment on Bushwick Ave. The space is big, and even though it's currently under renovation ("Oh it'll definitely be done by September," says Rich unconvincingly), we can tell it's going to be nice. Steve and I feel a weight ever-so-slightly lifted from our shoulders. Alright, so there's at least something in this goddamned city we can afford. Rich tells us there's central air in this unit, and we politely ignore his lie. Nothing can dampen our mood now.