While Aimee toured the apartment with our real estate agent, Israel T., and the boys quickly picked their rooms - thankfully no fight to the death there - I continued with the big shlepp. Happily, and contrary to our expectations, our building has an elevator. Unhappily, the elevator appears to have been designed with Biafrans in mind, holding a maximum of 4 very skinny people, provided that they stand straight with their hands to their sides, all inhale and hold their breath, and are carrying absolutely nothing. But it works. So I loaded it up, pressed the button, and raced it up the stairs to the third floor where I unloaded, pressed the button and then raced it down the stairs. Repeating this five times, I got all our stuff into the apartment. The Apartment. Very
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