All I ever want to do is chill in a room full of cats, so if you are similarly minded, the Meow Parlour is an excellent idea. But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, no matter how much money you pay, they’re still cats and therefore fuzzy jerks.
The story is that the ex wants to move out but doesn't have the financial wherewithal to do so. So, until Levy can sell the mansion-like apartment where the entire brood currently lives, she and Lipman are stuck sharing a kitchen and squabbling over inanities.
I didn’t really understand the import of the food pantries and the free gift grab bags at the church, but I could sense the desperation of my mom’s situation.
Laundry in New York is even worse than regular laundry. You have to locate a laundromat, figure out what kind of money they take, haul your stuff there, come back in time to switch it before some angry weirdo tosses your intimates on the floor, lug it back home, and fold it. It can be a day-long saga and that’s if you have one nearby and it doesn’t require all quarters.
What will said oligarchs and financiers get for their zeros? Space. Some amenities. A view. The knowledge that they are blocking out the sun, much like Mr. Burns once did in Springfield, before he came to a bad end.
Just a few months after everything was seemingly “coming up Kim,” I was sitting on a park bench at Lincoln Center, eating a bag of candy alone and coming to the realization that I would soon be unemployed.
Did the NYPD accidentally reveal that one of its primary mandates has little to do with general well-being and much more to do with raising money for the city at the expense of its most vulnerable?