The thing about rent is, it’s expensive. $200 will get you a lovely home, if you’re a pair of Reeboks. And when you think about it, what are you really paying for? Keeping the rain out of your hair? More, if you want to have your dry hair near a train station? A weekly travel-pass costs $38. You learn to pack light – really light. Summiting Everest light. Space Shuttle light. Night-shift jobs are easy to find, so you work while the trains sleep. You find a workplace that has showers, and you get real friendly with a laundromat. You sleep your way all across the city. Your home has harbour, mountain and pastoral views, and 200 bathrooms, never more than a stop away, and does your commuting for you. No one thinks anything about a night-shift worker slumped in their seat. You learn how to sleep comfortably with a bag handcuffed to your wrist. Without a TV you find yourself reading Dostoyevsky and Dale Carnegie. Without the Internet you work on your screenplay. With all that rent money you buy a ticket to New York – where the trains run 24/7. You meet the right people who know the right people who went to school with the right people’s sons, and the next thing you know your movie’s being made and you buy yourself a penthouse in the East 40’s and laugh at the idea of ever paying rent.
Then you discover that you can’t get to sleep without the clicking of the wheels and the rocking of the carriage.
So you buy yourself a weekly.
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