Chapter 2: Craigslist Castles

I work in online media. I just started out, and my income barely covers the basics.

My job’s a grind—endless blog posts, clickbait headlines, and the constant hum of Slack notifications. Most months, after food, clothes, rent, and the subway card, my checking account’s barely breathing. Ramen dinners and thrift store hoodies are my normal.

So I found a place that was dirt cheap.

The listing read: “Charming vintage unit, sixth floor walk-up, no elevator.” Translation? Old as dirt, and you’ll break a sweat just getting your groceries upstairs. The stairs creaked under your feet, and the faded carpet in the hallway smelled like boiled cabbage and ancient mop water. As for the interior, well...

Calling it bare-bones would be generous. Calling it rundown would be a compliment.

The linoleum in the kitchen peeled at the edges. The fridge hummed like a dying lawnmower. Everything you’d expect was technically there, but most of it was either broken or barely usable.

Luckily, I’m a guy—not too picky. As long as I have a roof over my head, I’m fine.

Rent’s only $350 a month for two bedrooms and a living room—a steal, practically at garage sale prices. In New York, that’s basically a unicorn deal. My friends thought I was lying. “What’s the catch?” they asked. I told them to come visit and see for themselves. Spoiler: nobody did.

Rachel rented here for the same reason: it’s cheap. Oh, and it’s only a five-minute walk to her office.

Ever since she moved in and started sharing the place, my life has been a living hell.