I'm unemployed, but even on my nonexistent salary, I manage to get at least one new parcel packed with the latest trendy products delivered to my doorstep. Genuine Italian watches (the kind Sylvester Stallone covets), ass-enhancing boxer briefs (all the rage among teh gayz), and pairs of Goretex Ecco hiking boots (for those serious mountaineers) are only a few of the recent +biweekly additions to my apartment. This may sound like any chic trendmeister's indulgent shopping spree, seeing as how I haven't paid for any of these products, but it's not.
In fact, I have never ordered any of these things, let heard of them before. Nothing that comes is ever in my size. Nothing is ever addressed to me, nor my room mates.
It's all addressed to Mr._______ ________, one of my best buddies from college, who's an international journalist. Who needs a permanent address when you're constantly on the move covering international security and luxury travel stories for a leading New York-based publication? He most certainly doesn't, but that also means he doesn't have a personal mailing address either.
Instead, he has me and my humble apartment in New York. I've just moved to the City after returning from abroad....
