Classifieds

Silver-plated hand mirror, very old. My aunt brought it from Trinidad in 1962. She kept it wrapped in white cloth and rarely took it out. Said it wasn't for seeing yourself.

Ornate handle, heavy for its size. The glass has a strange quality, sometimes it fogs when no one's near it.

My aunt passed last month. She left instructions to sell it, but only to someone who "knows what it's for." I don't know what that means. I don't want to know.

If you understand, come get it. Cash only. Pickup on Pitkin Ave after sunset.

Hi! My name is Jenna and I need a roommate fairly quickly.

I have a 2BR on Willoughby Ave near Pratt. Great apartment, good light, pre-war details. I'm willing to cover 60% of the rent for the first three months if you can move in soon.

A little about me: I'm 22, grad student, recently relocated from Manhattan. I was in the NYU dorms, then Murray Hill, but the rent got ridiculous so I moved to Brooklyn. Tried Brooklyn Heights first but my roommates there weren't a good fit. I stayed two weeks. I'd rather not get into it, but I will say this: if someone asks you to recite a bunch of latin from some old book ask follow-up questions before you do!

The Willoughby place has been much better. My roommate Dahlia was great. Normal job, normal hours, watched a lot of reality TV. I wish her good night two weeks ago and haven't seen her since. The police took a report. Her room is available now. It's the larger one, faces the back garden. Her furniture is still there if you want it. There's a mirror in the closet I can't figure out how to remove, but you could cover it.

Rent is $3,200 total. The landlord lives downstairs. She'll want to meet you before anything is signed. She said she likes to "look at people first." I think she means references. She's a character but very nice. Every time I see her she tells me "It's always good to come home to Willoughby."

I'm just looking for someone normal. Someone who keeps regular hours and comes home at night and isn't into any weird shit. Let me know if you're interested. I'm usually home after 6.

— Jenna

P.S. — There's a three-legged cat that sits on the fire escape sometimes. I don't know whose he is. If he's yours, come get him. He keeps staring at Dahlia's window. She must have fed him. So if you like cats he's yours!

Misplaced time, last seen Tuesday evening near the J train. No questions asked.

To the woman on Hancock Street in Bed-Stuy, near the old brownstone with the boarded windows. We've talked three times now and I still don't know your name. Is it Clara?

First time was about two weeks ago. I was walking home late from the G train and you were standing on the corner looking a little lost. You asked me what year it was, which I thought was a funny way to start a conversation. I said 2026 and you got this strange look on your face. I figured you'd had a long night. We've all been there. You were wearing this old dress—like vintage, really vintage. I asked if you'd come from a costume party and you just laughed and said "something like that." You had a great laugh. A little sad, maybe, but great.

Second time was a few nights later. Same corner, same dress. I asked if you lived nearby and you said you'd "been here longer than anyone." I assumed you meant your family had roots in the neighborhood. Respect. You asked about my job, my life, whether I was happy. It was intense but in a good way. Like you really wanted to know.
I noticed you kept looking at the brownstone behind us. I asked if that was your place and you said you "couldn't leave it." I get it, it's rent-stabilized, right? Nobody's giving that up.

Third time was last night. I brought you coffee, but you didn't take it. Lactose intolerant? You didn't explain, just smiled and told me I was kind to remember her. I said of course I remembered—we'd just talked two days ago. You looked surprised by that, like time worked differently for you.
Here's the thing: I tried to touch your hand and it was freezing. Are you sick? You pulled away fast. I'm sorry if that was too forward. You said something like "it's not you, I'm just not... all here right now." I totally understand. Dissociation is real. This city's stressful.

Anyway. I walk down Hancock most nights around eleven. I worked a late shift. If you see this, come say hi. I never got your name, but someone in the bodega said a woman named Clara used to live in that brownstone "way back when." Maybe you know her? Maybe you're related?

I don't know why, but I feel like you've been waiting for someone. I'm probably not who you're looking for, but I'd still like to talk again.
You're not like anyone I've ever met and there's something about you I can't put my finger on. I hope you're ok.

—The guy with the coffee