Farewell, P Street!

It’s always sad to leave an apartment, even if you’re moving on to bigger and better things. This afternoon I met the landlord at our midtown apartment for a final walk-through, then turned in our keys. Several New York Times were piled by the front door—apparently the Sacramento delivery people haven’t gotten or heeded our change of address notification; I wonder if the paper will continue to be delivered, entertaining ghosts of us on the premises.

We’re officially Rosevillians now. And no, I’m not sure if that’s the correct word, but I like it, with its taunting, dangerous closeness to “rose villains.”

Farewell, P Street apartment!

Note: Don't scrutinize this picture for a belly--it's a picture from March 2008.