vincentpeone

The second I laid eyes on the full-floor, second-story walk-up at 321 Broadway, I was inspired. It was much bigger than the ad had found in the Village Voice suggested, and it was somewhat affordable when split four ways—despite being in the remote, undeveloped part of Brooklyn known as Williamsburg. But the commute to SVA was acceptable, and the space was always welcoming when you got home, thanks to , who filled it with warm jazz records. I would spend hours lying on the sofa had brought from his childhood home, watching the light refract off the JZ train through the cloudy prewar windows.

A few years later, moved in, and she transformed the loft from a museum of my youth into a home—one that, no matter where I was in the world, was always my final destination.

We danced. We laughed. We fell in love. We got bed bugs.

Thank you, 321 Broadway. You’ll always be home.