its　size。　I　had　naively　eyed　the　tiny　square　and　decided　that　it　had
  to　be　close　to　a　normal…size　room　and　that　I’d　just　buy　the　usual
  bedroom　set：　a　queen…size　bed；　a　dresser；　maybe　a　nightstand　or　two。
  Lily　and　I　had　taken　Alex’s　car　to　Ikea；　the　postcollege　apartment
  mecca；　and　picked　out　a　beautiful　light…colored　wood　set　and　a　woven
  rug　with　shades　of　light　blue；　dark　blue；　royal　blue；　and　indigo。
  Again；　like　fashion；　Home　decorating　was　not　my　strong　suit：　I
  believe　that　Ikea　was　into　its　“Blue　Period。”　We　bought　a　duvet
  cover　with　a　blue…flecked　pattern　and　the　fluffiest　forter　they
  sold。　She　persuaded　me　to　get　one　of　those　Chinese　rice…paper　lamps
  for　the　nightstand；　and　I　chose　some　preframed　black…and…white
  pictures　to　plement　the　deep　red　roughness　of　my　much…hyped
  exposed　brick　wall。　Elegant　and　casual；　and　not　a　little　Zen。
  Perfect　for　my　first　adult　room　in　the　big　city。
  Perfect；　that　is；　until　it　all　actually　arrived。　It　seems　simply
  eyeing　a　room　isn’t　quite　the　same　as　measuring　it。　Nothing　fit。
  Alex　put　the　bed　together　and　by　the　time　he’d　pushed　it　against　the
  exposed…brick　wall　（Manhattan　code　for　“unfinished　wall”）　it　had
  consumed　the　entire　room。　I　had　to　send　the　delivery　men　back　with
  the　six…drawer　dresser；　the　two　adorable　nightstands；　and　even　the
  full…length　mirror。　The　men　and　Alex　did　lift　up　the　bed；　however；
  and　I　was　able　to　slip　the　tri…blue　rug　under　it；　and　a　few　blue
  inches　peeked　out　from　underneath　the　wooden　behemoth。　The
  rice…paper　lamp　had　no　nightstand　or　dresser　on　which　to　rest；　so　I
  simply　placed　it　on　the　floor；　wedged　in　the　six　inches　between　the
  bed　frame　and　the　sliding　closet　door。　And　even　though　I　tried
  special　mounting　tape；　nails；　duct　tape；　screws；　wires；　Krazy　Glue；
  double…sided　tape；　and　much　cursing；　the　framed　photos　refused　to
  adhere　to　the　exposed　brick　wall。　After　nearly　three　hours　of　effort
  and　knuckles　rubbed　bleeding　and　raw　from　the　brick；　I　finally
  propped　them　up　on　the　windowsill。　It　was　for　the　best；　I　thought。
  Blocked　a　bit　of　the　direct　view　the　woman　living　across　the
  airshaft　had　into　my　room。　None　of　it　mattered；　though。　Not　the
  airshaft　instead　of　a　majestic　skyline　or　the　lack　of　drawer　space
  or　the　closet　that　was　too　small　to　hold　a　winter　coat。　The　room　was
  mine—the　first　I　could　decorate　all　on　my　own；　with　no　input　from
  parents　or　roommates—and　I　loved　it。
  It　was　the　Sunday　night　before　my　first　day　of　work；　and　I　could　do
  nothing　but　agonize　over　what　to　wear　the　next　day。　Kendra；　the
  nicer　of　my　two　apartmentmates；　kept　poking　her　head　in　and　asking
  quietly　if　she　could　help　at　all。　Considering　the　two　of　them　wore
  ultraconservative　suits　to　work　each　day；　I　declined　any　fashion
  input。　I　paced　the　living　room　as　much　as　I　could　manage　when　each
  length　only　took　four　strides；　and　sat　down　on　the　futon　in　front　of
  the　TV。　Just　what　does　one　wear　to　the　first　day　working　for　the
  most　fashionable　fashion　editor　of　the　most　fashionable　fashion
  magazine　in　existence？　I’d　heard　of　Prada　（from　the　few　Jappy　girls
  who　carried　the　backpacks　at　Brown）　and　Louis　Vuitton　（because　both
  of　my　grandmothers　sported　the　signature…print　bags　without
  realizing　how　cool　they　were）　and　maybe　even　Gucci　（because　who
  hasn’t　heard　of　Gucci？）。　But　I　sure　didn’t　own　a　single　stitch　of
  it；　and　I　wouldn’t　have　known　what　to　do　with　it　if　the　entire
  contents　of　all　three　stores　resided　in　my　miniature　closet。　I
  walked　back　to　my　room—or；　rather；　the　wall…to…wall　mattress　that　I
  called　a　room—and　collapsed　on　that　big；　beautiful　bed；　banging　my
  ankle　on　the　bulky　frame。　Shit。　What　now？
  After　much　agonizing　and　clothes…flinging；　I　finally　decided　on　a
  light　blue　sweater　and　a　knee…length　black　skirt；　with　my　knee…high
  black　boots。　I　already　knew　that　a　briefcase　wouldn’t　fly　there；　so
  I　was　left　with　no　choice　but　to　use　my　black　canvas　purse。　The　last
  thing　I　remember　about　that　night　was　trying　to　navigate　around　my
  massive　bed　in　high…heeled　boots；　a　skirt；　and　no　shirt；　and　sitting
  down　to　rest　from　the　exhaustion　of　the　effort。
  I　must　have　passed　out　from　sheer　anxiety；　because　it　was　adrenaline
  alone　that　awakened　me　at　5：30A　。M。　I　bolted　from　the　bed。　My　nerves
  had　been　in　perpetual　overdrive　all　week；　and　my　head　felt　like　it
  would　explode。　I　had　exactly　an　hour　and　a　half　to　shower；　dress；
  and　make　my　way　from　my　fraternity…like　building　at　96th　and　Third
  to　midtown　via　public　transportation；　a　still　sinister　and
  intimidating　concept。　That　meant　I　had　to　allot　an　hour　for　travel
  time　and　a　half　hour　to　make　myself　beautiful。
  The　shower　was　horrific。　It　made　a　high…pitched　squealing　noise　like
  one　of　those　dog…training　whistles；　remaining　steadfastly　lukewarm
  until　just　before　I　stepped　out　into　the　freezing…cold　bathroom；　at
  which　point　the　water　turned　scalding。　It　took　a　mere　three　days
  ofthat　routine　before　I　began　sprinting　from　my　bed；　turning　on　the
  shower　fifteen　minutes　early；　and　heading　back　under　the　covers。
  When　I　snoozed　three　more　times　with　the　alarm　clock　and　went　back
  for　round　two　in　the　bathroom；　the　mirrors　would　be　all　steamed　up
  from　the　gloriously　hot—although　trickling—water。
  I　got　myself　into　my　binding　and　unfortable　outfit　and　out　the
  door　in　twenty…five　minutes—a　record。　And　it　took　only　ten　minutes
  to　find　the　nearest　subway；　something　I　should’ve　done　the　night
  before　but　was　too　busy　scoffing　at　my　mother’s　suggestion　to　take　a
  “run…through”　so　I　wouldn’t　get　lost。　When　I’d　gone　for　the
  interview　the　week　before　I’d　taken　a　cab；　and　I　was　already
  convinced　that　this　subway　experiment　was　going　to　be　a　nightmare。
  But；　remarkably；　there　was　an　English…speaking　attendant　in　the
  booth　who　instructed　me　to　take　the　6　train　to　59th　Street。　She　said
  I’d　exit　right　on　59th　and　would　have　to　walk　two　blocks　west　to
  Madison。　Easy。　I　rode　the　cold　train　in　silence；　one　of　the　only
  people　crazy　enough　to　be　awake　and　actually　moving　at　such　a
  miserable　hour　in　the　middle　of　November。　So　far；　so　good—no
  glitches　until　it　was　time　to　make　my　way　up　to　street　level。
  I　took　the　nearest　stairs　and　stepped　out　into　a　frigid　day　where
  the　only　light　I　saw　was　emanating　from　twenty…four…hour　bodegas。
  Behind　me　was　Bloomingdale’s；　but　nothing　else　looked　familiar。
  Elias…Clark；　Elias…Clark；　Elias…Clark。　Where　was　that　building？　I
  turned　in　my　place　180　degrees　until　I　saw　a　street　sign：　60th
  Street　and　Lexington。　Well；　59th　can’t　be　that　far　away　from　60th；
  but　which　way　should　I　walk　to　make　the　streets　go　west？　And　where
  was　Madison　in　parison　to　Lexington？　Nothing　looked　familiar　from
  my　visit　to　the　building　the　week　before；　since　I’d　been　dropped　off
  right　in　front。　I　strolled　for　a　bit；　happy　to　have　left　enough　time
  to　get　as　lost　as　I　was；　and　finally　ducked　into　a　deli　for　a　cup　of
  Coffee。
  “Hello；　sir。　I　can’t　seem　to　find　my　way　to　the　Elias…Clark
  building。　Could　you　please　point　me　in　the　right　direction？”　I　asked
  the　nervous…looking　man　behind　the　cash　register。　I　tried　not　to
  smile　sweetly；　remembering　what　everyone　had　told　me　about　not　being
  in　Avon　anymore；　and　how　people　here　don’t　exactly　respond　well　to
  good　manners。　He　scowled　at　me；　and　I　got　nervous　it　was　because　he
  thought　me　rude。　I　smiled　sweetly。
  “One　dollah；”　he　said；　holding　out　his　hand。
  “You’re　charging　me　for　directions？”
  “One　dollah；　skeem　or　bleck；　you　peek。”
  I　stared　at　him　for　a　moment　before　I　realized　he　knew　only　enough
  English　to　converse　about　Coffee。　“Oh；　skim　would　be　perfect。　Thank
  you　so　much。”　I　handed　over　a　dollar　and　headed　back　outside；　more
  lost　than　ever。　I　asked　people　who　worked　at　newsstands；　as　street
  sweepers；　even　a　man　who　was　tucked　inside　one　of　those　movable
  breakfast　carts。　Not　a　single　one　understood　me　well　enough　to　so
  much　as　point　in　the　direction　of　59th　and　Madison；　and　I　had　brief
  flashbacks　to　Delhi；　Depression；　dysentery。No！　I　will　find　it。
  A　few　more　minutes　of　wandering　aimlessly　around　a　waking　midtown
  actually　landed　me　at　the　front　door　of　the　Elias…Clark　building。
  The　lobby　glowed　behind　the　glass　doors　in　the　early…morning
  darkness；　and　it　looked；　for　those　first　few　moments；　like　a　warm；
  weling　place。　But　when　I　pushed　the　revolving　door　to　enter；　it
  fought　me。　Harder　and　harder　I　pushed；　until　my　body　weight　was
  thrust　forward　and　my　face　was　nearly　pressed　against　the　glass；　and
  only　then　did　it　budge。　When　it　did　begin　to　move；　it　slid　slowly　at
  first；　prompting　me　to　push　ever　harder。　But　as　so