6 Fuller/corner of Tremont

They say that moving three times equals burning down once.

You have moved three times in your life.

1) to suburbs of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
2) to that godawful dorm room at Carnegie Melon
3) to that crap shack of an apartment a stone's throw away from Liberty Avenue

None of which can actually be called an improvement. Although moving out of your parent's home might have been the best day of your life (so far).

Now you wonder if there is a saying for that fourth move. Probably not. And it doesn't really matter.

You have stopped listening to what the realtor is saying about square footage and insulated windows. None of that concerns you right now because you have your eyes set on the fixtures (weren't they Italian?) and the stainless steel counter tops (stainless kitchen sex = check).

The more you look around, the more the realtor's voice becomes white noise to you. It's nice, though, how it echos off the 12 feet ceiling. Or were it 15?

The sofa will go over there by the huge windows facing Fuller St. Maybe you'll go for something Italian as well, as long as it's ridiculously expensive and stylish. The bonus you made from scoring that account for Ryder is enough not only for a down payment for this place, it also leaves enough to pay for some nice pieces of furniture.

You more than deserve it. This.

If you had such a word in your vocabulary, you'd said you've fallen in love with this place ever since you saw the pictures online. It has this industrial vibe that you like but somehow the hardwood floors give it a sense of a... home.

What you like most about it, though, is that it has no doors. No doors that get slammed shut after a drunken shouting match. No doors to hide behind, listening to your father complaining about your mere existence, asking why you can't be more like your sister. No doors to break a finger here or a pinkie toe there.

No, this place is nothing like the house you grew up in. This place gives you space to breath, literally and figuratively.

You won't take over much from the old apartment, leaving most of interior to Mickey when he takes over the lease. You've never been one to accumulate a lot of belongings, worldly or otherwise.

As long as there is enough space in the closet for your Pradas, and enough room in the bed for your next trick, you'll be just fine.

"So, Mr. Kinney, what do you say?" Suddenly, the realtor's voice cuts through your reverie. His hand is on your shoulders which you would mind less if he was hot.

You feel a grin spread on your face despite trying to be cool and professional. "I take it."

The guy's "Great, I'll draw up the contracts, then..." goes unheard.

In your mind, you already start arranging the dining area you won't use (at least not for dining).

Even though nothing is signed yet, you feel that for the first time you have something that is yours.

Yours alone.

A place that can be your sanctuary, your home.

A place you will never need to share with anybody.