We're talking pre-hipster Chelsea. The restaurants were not chic little eateries filled with happy gay boys, but dives where you could get super-cheap Puerto Rican rice and beans or Chinese take-out; one joint had both.
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We're in bed watching an old black-and-white movie when suddenly my wife sits up with a jolt, pointing toward the kitchen with a trembling finger. "Oh my God, a mouse just ran by!"
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