Psychology Today | 22.04.2026 06:00
Angie and I had been friends since the first week of college. After we graduated, we lived together for two years. We both worked in New York City, bouncing around various forms of paid and unpaid work as we figured out what we wanted to do with our lives. More than once, we woke up puzzling over the appearance of a new piece of furniture in the kitchen—a stool, or a set of shelves—usually the result of a late-night, tipsy impulse grab from a street-side pile on our way home. (We were not rich.)
