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Half A Block From Central Park

Sounds a bit like a movie title, doesn't it? Or a book...
So many things happened since my last post, it's difficult to even start. In short, we moved again (like-we-did-last-summer... no, actually, it was the summer before last, when we escaped Crown Heights in favor of Briarwood, small neighborhood on the edge of Kew Gardens).
This time we decided to go for the gold, so we moved to Upper West Side, and Dar and Cassian—to Brooklyn Heights.
Wow. I am still not sure if we are going to make it, but both areas are really nice (doh... location-location-location, as they say... almost makes up for our can-you-please-take-dogs-for-a-walk-I-need-to-open-the-fridge-size apartment... and Dar's is a basement burrow even smaller than ours...).
It was about time for us to move, though. Life in Queens was a definite upgrade from our year-long Brooklyn survival experiment, but still quite far from a dream, considering a hefty commute on a barely working E/F trains (for Eva and Darya, and after I got my new/present job, for me as well—do not have to drive anymore!), not very many places to take dogs out (which they need at least twice a day, unfortunately), and, of course, Dar's baby.
I do like little brat, but the sooner they will start living on their own, the better for all of us it will be. We have reached this understanding, crossed our fingers, and signed two leases. No going back now, not without a penalty.
So here we are, still 90% in boxes, our hands and heads hurt from assembling IKEA's puzzles, out legs—from 3rd story walk-up, but we are not bridge-and-tunnel people anymore, we are in the City (Dar still lives on the other side of Brooklyn Bridge, but really close, one train stop), two blocks from Roth's Steakhouse, where I played jam last year—a whole year passed already?—and half a block from Central Park.
I wonder what's next.

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