For someone who’s never been inside the apartment upstairs before, Nadia sure seems to know where everything is. The moment I unlock the door, she walks right in and starts the tour. “This is my bedroom,” she says, pointing down the short hall leading off the door. “Downstairs, I mean. You’re going to love the closet.”
Kyle and I follow her into the apartment’s only bedroom, which looks spacious now but I’m sure will shrink once I move my full-size futon in. There’s a ceiling fan, which is nice, a window covered with mini-blinds that looks out over the street, and a single walk-in closet. She’s right, I do love it—there are three rods for hanging clothes and, along the back wall, enough shelves for storage that I won’t have to bother buying a dresser. I’ve been using a system of stackable
