This week I stayed in a hotel on Hallam Street, the alleyway behind Langton Street. That gave me a great view of my old life. It feels kind of creepy — like Langton Street broke up with me and now I'm lurking in a hotel watching it through a venetian blind.
I will say, this hotel is a pretty great deal. It's $47 a night (less than the Renoir). The room is perfectly adequate, and Hallam Street has pretty much zero drama (unlike Seventh and Market). The price works out to about $1,400 a month — cheaper than a lot of studio apartments in this part of town.
The awkward part is I've had to use my old bus stop to get to work, which means I run into the old neighbors. "Uh, didn't you move?" they say.
I feel like the 23-year-old guy who still goes to high-school parties.
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