Moving On In
(thinks she) knows a thing or two about love, and is baring all.
from her well-worn shoebox apartment where I had managed to squeeze in for the past year—finding nooks and crannies to stuff my most important belongings like my collections of cruelty-free eyeliner and pleather Oxfords—to a slightly larger shoebox in a much more desirable gayborhood … I mean neighborhood. Though she had lived in the previous spot for over a decade, our new flat was ours together from the get-go, allowing us to collectively make decisions about everything from faux suede throw pillows (necessary or a nuisance?) to how to most efficiently organize our vegan fridge (best to put the non-dairy Ben & Jerry’s
