I have a girlfriend who has a boyfriend who has an apartment the size of Moby Dick. It is a two or three bedroom behemoth in lower Manhattan (I haven't checked) and it is mostly empty, though a small congregation of us cook dinner there once a week. Note: Its owner lives in Europe.
Without a proper caregiver we must bring the salt, pans, forks, etc. Our girlfriend steals serving trays (and a leftover salad) from office catering. Everything else here is double-wide and stainless steel, so we scavenge like paupers but cook like kings.
Last night we made quick work of tacos, champagne, and Velveeta. Who are we? I wondered. We are five girls eating dinner in a grand apartment in a beautiful city or we are five girls eating cheese off of stolen plates. Or we are friends who are filling this empty apartment with laughter and forgetting to pretend we belong in it.
We are so much better at forgetting than pretending.