How to Save a PrincessBy Katie Klein
He is my next-door neighbor, and up until this moment I have seen him only in passing.
We share a common apartment wall in our fourth-floor walk-ups, so I know when he’s watching reruns of The Office, and he knows the kind of mood I’m in based on the internet radio station blasting throughout my living room. Bruno Mars, and at some point, the vacuum cleaner will make an appearance. I know when he’s ordered Japanese takeout, and he has likely experienced at least one bout of insomnia with me, those early morning hours when I’m rifling through my belongings, purging the excess—discarding things outgrown both literally and metaphorically, items that no longer “spark joy”—for all the noise I make trying to “keep it down.” And I am certain he endured secon
