From an apartment building right across the street from the Ansonia, the famous Ansonia apartment building here in New York City.

This is obscure season four, an American tragedy. I'm your host, your friend,

your ear lover, and literary mansplainer in chief, Michael Ian Black. Now returned to New York

City, a place I have not lived for this amount of time since, oh, I don't know, 1998 or so when I got married.

I was last time I lived in New York City and now I'm living here again for at least the next 10 weeks.

I've got a little apartment.

And when I say little, that doesn't quite do it justice.

I mean, it's little.

The living area is little, but livable.

The bedroom is so small that there's really only room for the bed

and there's two little closets, but to get into the closets,

you literally have to walk on the bed unless you want to risk shuffling along the perimeter of the bed.

And the reason it's a risk is because every time you do so, at least every time I do so,

as I turned the corner, I smash my shin into the corner of the bed because it is so small

in there.

And so I've taken now to keeping most of my clothes in the kitchen to avoid having to go

into the closet. The bathroom also very small, difficult to maneuver in a bathroom as small as

that one. That being said, it's a perfectly nice apartment, cromulent even, and it's near Central

Park, which I never go to, and it's in a good neighborhood where the Trader Joe's, which I've

been to twice, but haven't purchased anything either time because both times I went.

The checkout line was so long, I thought to myself,

I'd rather starve than stand in this line. So that's what I've been doing, because there's

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