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The Brooklynite

Diary of a real estate rookie

Even my darling husband points out I have my flaws. Most of them involve my desire to throw away all his stuff, but one or two actually spill over into real estate. One of my larger flaws as an agent is that I don't understand that not everyone wants what I want -- specifically, to live in Manhattan. Like so many kids from flyover states, I fought and clawed my way here, and I can't imagine living anywhere else. Sure it's noisy, crowded and dirty, but you'll have to take me out of here in a pine box (which might actually be larger than my living room). Just when I thought I had this problem under control, my celebrity client's little sister showed up and said she wanted a rental, I thought, "aha, Manhattan." Was I not listening when she said she lived in Brooklyn now? No, I was not. It wasn't just narcissism; there was also an element of being a control freak. I like to work my magic where my powers lie, and my ability to conjure up anything cool across the East River is limited. So ...

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