I don’t know how I expected to feel, moving to a new city in the way I chose to do so. A friend moved here a week after I did and is settling in much better. But she has a five-figure college graduation present in her bank account and a boyfriend in Queens. Either one can get you a social network much more quickly than being on the verge of homelessness and sleeping on a friend’s futon in Harlem, the last relationship having been with a man who’s been dead more than two years and was never in NYC to begin with. I’m trying not to hold grudges; I’ve gotten this far with little money and few relationships, and my story is not hers. Everyone struggles in their own ways. I wish mine were more of the high-class struggles and less worrying about whether I’ll have a place to live in 60 days, but there’s not much I can do about that that I’m not already doing. Tonight, I’m just happy to have a NYC public library card. It’s more than I had yesterday, and that’s something.
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