Goodbye, iPhone. Farewell, Brooklyn. Let’s move to Honduras and camp with jaguars
Remember those days,I’d start to say to Amy, my wife, when I was feeling particularly old and melancholy. Remember when we decided one night we wanted to go to Paris and the next day we were on a plane? Remember when we stayed out all night and you broke your heel and we ate breakfast at that diner in the West Village? How many times did we do that? Remember when we lived in that $500 studio in Williamsburg with views of the city and we thought we had it made?
In our twenties, we’d bounced around from apartment to apartment.