UPSTATE FANTASY
The New Yorker|April 10, 2023
SHOUTS & MURMURS
EVAN ALLGOOD
UPSTATE FANTASY

Scrolling through Hudson Valley Craigslist one night, I come across a sprawling—but cozy—oak-floored Victorian house that’s perfectly insulated despite being two hundred years old. I buy it for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, without having to borrow any money from my parents.

Moving is a breeze. Even at the end of the brisk drive upstate, I’m in a sea of B.L.M. signs and rainbow flags, and nobody wants to shoot me for my political beliefs. In fact, I receive several compliments on my electric pickup truck, and everyone calls me Chief.

Upon my arrival, the family of mice living in my house pack up and leave, but not before thoughtfully scrubbing the oven of their urine and feces. They also Windex all seven of the stained-glass windows in the bathroom.

I chop so much wood for the natural-stone fireplace that my hands become calloused (hotly) and I put on twenty pounds of muscle. The muscle is concentrated mostly in my arms, chest, abs, and penis.

Every day I wake up at 5 A.M. to volunteer at a nearby animal sanctuary, because the valley’s sublime sunrises have transformed me, overnight, into a morning person.

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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der April 10, 2023-Ausgabe von The New Yorker.

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