Mexico Homes Part X

It's harder to comment on these more recent abodes. I think as time passes it's easier to recognize the significance of them. Right now as I look back on home #10 I can only think of odd, specific memories. Like the process of finding it. With the help of a dear friend I drove around after work for weeks until I felt like I just had to settle.
Then I had to go meet the landlord in his downtown office building and sit across his large wooden desk to sign the contract. I was overcome with a feeling of loneliness from living alone among my scarce collection of furniture and belongings. The first nights of sleeping I stayed up listening to the quietness of Anzures, a colonia that is more residential and calm than where I was before in Condesa.  I had my friend Marshall who is a painter and interior decorator of sorts come over and we brainstormed 50 different things I could do to make it more cozy. Then we both agreed it wasn't worth the effort. I became a defeatist. I brought Bernie over one day after work and he grew depressed just standing in the living room for a few minutes imagining me sleeping there alone night after night. Something about the single pillow is stark. I lived in renovated maids quarters on the bottom floor of a modern, five unit apartment building. I got an incredible deal on the place given that it was clean and in a great neighborhood. The commute to work was extra difficult and Babs didn't have much space to do her business. For the six months that I lived there I can only remember having friends over maybe twice. Once we all just sat in the living room before going out, and the other time Greg, Rafa and I played guitars and sang really loudly in the middle of the night. That time I made breakfast tacos. I also made my first batches of homemade peanut butter in the tiny kitchen with my nut grinder I ordered from South Korea. It made for one hell of an Elvis sandwich (so good in fact, the eater came down with a case of vertigo soon afterwards). There was the best coffee in the entire city just a few blocks away. It was run by a few old guys who played dominos in an OLD garage with a coffee roaster that made me romanticize about Cuba. Espresso was 5 pesos (about 40 cents). This was the end of my Mexico City days. I moved back home in July. Really sad thinking about that. I got a really nice Brazilian named Mateus to take over my lease and buy all my furniture. I hope someone gets a hold of the three handmade shelves that were made with extreme care and love.