The night without freelance is the night of domestic choredom. Of incredible interior transformation, supply procurement, laundering and so forth.
Still adjusting to living in this ‘hood. Everything is compact, yet full of legwork. Of walking up a steep hill to work, to the laundromat, to whatever is up there. And the constant four-flight-stair elevation (and delevation?).
It’s probably the most exotic place I’ve lived. Not exotic, but … character filled. Overwhelmingly historic if one ponders it for about two seconds. Fairy taleish. Trash pick-up three times a week-ish.