My first apartment in New York was one of those classic lofts I never thought I would ever be cool enough to live in. So New York. It was right in front of the restaurant where Carrie Bradshaw’s disastrous birthday happened. Alec Baldwin lived in the opposite building and could occasionally be seen storming out of his door, grumbling and fuming. Fran Lebowitz’s heavy and determined step would randomly make an appearance in the background.

It was right in the middle of Greenwich Village. The loft had the bare brick walls, the elevator opening directly in the living room, the creaking wood floor and the fire escape stairs in the back, where I would sit and smoke a cigarette while listening to the sirens in the distance.