For the first time in a decade, I live alone. And I get why people like it so much. My apartment’s not huge, but it feels roomy because it’s smartly laid out. I have space for my books, my coffee setup, even a reading chair I never thought I’d own. It feels like mine. No passive-aggressive Post-it Notes on the fridge. Just peace. And that’s priceless in the tri-state area.

I’ve lived above a karaoke bar. I’ve lived next to a guy who was “into drums.” This is the first apartment I’ve had where I can sit down, read a book, and not hear someone practicing for America’s Got Talent. The walls are actually thick. Like, do-not-disturb thick. As someone who values silence more than most relationships I’ve had, I call that a win.

I’ve walked into buildings where I immediately felt like I was going to get haunted. This is not that. Iron65 has good energy. No weird flickering lights. No awkward design choices. No mystery smells in the hallway. Just... a solid, grown-up building that feels like it was designed by someone who’s actually lived in New York.

Listen, I’ve lived in the city long enough to know not to get my hopes up. So when I moved into Iron65, I was suspicious. Too clean. Too quiet. Too...functional. But months in, I’ve stopped waiting for the catch. The gym’s great. The water pressure is strong. The view from my window makes my morning coffee feel like a movie. It’s weird—I think I actually like it here.

You don’t realize how deeply car alarms have traumatized you until they’re gone. Iron65 is tucked away just enough that you forget the rest of the world exists. No sirens, no honking, no 3AM club let-outs. It’s... quiet. Peaceful. Borderline suspicious. But I’ll take it.