Di-Annie Get Your Gun

This morning, in dream land, I toured a one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn: it was absolute heaven. My subconscious arranged everything in the apartment as I would have: library-sized bookcases with a classic rolling ladder, massive granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances, shiny hardwood floors and, even more rare in NYC, a little patch of grass to call my own.

Assuming my dreams also provided a wallet the size of the hoover damn, yearning to burst and spew twenties all over the floor of this mini palace, everything was in order. I only had one question: "So what is the neighborhood like?"

With the almost-comic, matter-of-fact enthusiasm only a New York broker can muster (usually while telling you it's a good thing your apartment has one window and no closet), she said: "That's what the shot gun is for".



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