In the hustle and bustle of the city,
You’ll find a small corner of quietude
Nestled in the sweet calamity of Greenwich Village.
A cacophony of noises—
Pipes clanking,
Sirens blaring,
Voices shouting—
Surround the humble abode.
Apt. 305, a location full of stories ranging from
Mere modesty to preposterous pomposity.
It has been a whimsical art studio,
two lover’s escape,
a family’s pride and joy.
It has witnessed pain,
And elation
And catastrophe.
One man bought it with what seemed to him as pocket change.
Another couple saved up for nearly a century
to purchase the greatest prize they’ve ever laid eyes upon.
It once witnessed a Gatsby-esque occasion
With champagne pouring
Like an eternal fountain that quenches all thirst.
It once beheld a famish of sorts
with the humble tenants living
in the simplest fashion possible.
The walls have seen it all,
The corners bare the memories
And one tenant after another,
Lives are being changed.
In the hustle and bustle of the city,
You’ll find a large lineage of memories
Nestled in the sweet calamity of Apt. 305.