When you move to New York right out of school, Brooklyn actually, Sunset Park to be specific, you begin to realize how little you can live with/on. Oh, we had food and furniture, but there were very few splurges. We hardly went out that first year and we grew sad (for many reasons).

You are not alone as an out of work artist, newly self-emloyed designer, intern/assistant doing something cool, or working for a non-profit, earning less than the people you are helping. The kids make it look cool. You eat the prepared fruit from the Korean deli and shop for rad stuff at thrift stores. But if ever you venture outside your hipster nest - above 14th street, some might say - you discover that other New York: Manhattan, and remember that you, adrift are poor, and your things seem so shabby in the glare of Grammercy Park. Maybe you’ve moved to a better neighborhood in Brooklyn and you love that you’re surrounded by BoBo bakeries, Bugaboo strollers, and bars with (ironic) Bocce courts inside. But you’re not quite there, you’re faking it somehow, which is crazy because you’re so much more solvent than you were in the beginning, but it doesn’t matter. This city will eat you alive. Your cards are almost maxxed and it’s time to make a choice.

At that point you either have to 1) get serious, or 2) get out. I obviously chose the latter.

We had a slow start, but most people would not arrive in foreign country with a few thousand dollars in their pocket and a vague notion of doing something (great). It’s not for everyone. I’m lucky I managed to hold on tight to Malcolm’s coat tails, but I was chewing my hair all summer and making bad decisions. It was crazy-scary.

We took our time, looking, earning slowly, figuring out how money works (I mean how it spends, how it lasts here, since they’ve pretty much use the same cash for goods things we’ve got up North) and getting acclimated. I am only now beginning to understand how curious we appear as foreigners (extrajeneros) to some of the denizens of this small port town. I was culturally naive (even though I’d lived in NYC which makes you think you are exempt) leaving my shoes outside and being surprised when they were stolen.

This is not to say we are A Major Thrill. There are loads of very affluent Mexicans here in the summertime whose consumption is riotously conspicuous. This is also not to say that there is a sad poverty thing happening all over here. Certainly there are very ugly, unhappy pockets, but most people seem to be having a pretty good time. But we are Americans and for that mere fact we stand out and we are young and that means we have more shiny bleepy things than some of the oldens. (not all of you, don’t get tetchy). It is a new and unusual position for me. You can’t help but look and compare, to define what you have based on what you don’t and always sort of envy what’s on the other side of the glass topped wall.