Notes From My Neighbor

I lived on 4th Street in the East Village during my last couple of years of college. It was a place of many firsts: first couch, first pet, first tax return, and so many other definitive twenty-something experiences. But positively fourth street was really about the neighbors.

Joe lived on the fourth floor. A little Italian meatball of a man, he was known around the block for his punctuated insults and blunt racism. Naturally, he took a shining to my Jewish roommate and Texan self, if only for the fact that we were fertile ground for material.

Here are some of his notes.