Confessions of a Korean-American Man in New York City

I've lived in 6 different apartments in six years and most of it east of 5th Ave, but I am enjoying my life on the west side in Chelsea. Perhaps the west side is the best side, but I wouldn't agree with that if it was in reference to the Left Coast. Over the course of so many apartments, I've roomed with friends from High School, College and a handful of random people. It's these random people that have made my life interesting in NYC. When I lived in the upper upper east side, I lived with NYPD Blue and a smoke stack. Everyday for a year, my caucasian-pot smoking-guitar strumming-actor-roommate smoked weed nightly. When I'd return from work, I could smell the pot, mary jane, mj, weed, doobage as I approached my door. I'm surprised my neighbors never ratted us out but my building - famous for the opening scene in The Professional, which till this day is one of the highest grossing foreign flicks in S. Korea - was filled with our ilk, twentysomethings trying to discover one's self. Every few weeks a drug dealer would drop by to my annoyance, because I didn't want to get busted nor be associated with drug dealing. This scene was repeated on every visit: the drug dealer would enter and would check out every single room before revealing his stash, and he would never sit down. I dunno why but I would offer him a drink and he invariably refused my hospitality. Thankfully our apt was never busted and I survived not only daily doses of second hand pot smoke, but the body odor of my roommate who bathed with the frequency of a European. He had an uncanny resemblance to Val Kimmer and reminded me of the bohemian from The Saint. He was a heck of a guitar player, but unfortunately he rarely worked and when he did, he ran deliveries. Till this day I have no idea how he funded his daily pot consumption.