if cleanliness is godliness, dude did not have a brick wall.

August 16, 2011

I’ve seen many a vibrant, glossy, sealed and painted brick wall in my apartment-hunting years, and I never distinguished them from those raw, exposed interior facades, perhaps too blinded by the charm of these textured masses of natural coral, taupe and paprika hues. What my mind’s eye failed to notice was all the concrete and brick dust piling up on the floor.

Now, having finally acquired one of my dream features of a New York abode—the stunning, exposed brick wall—I am reminded daily of its flaws, in the forms of thick, coarse dust. Not only on the floor, mind you, but on the furniture, the books, the bikes, and even the art.

My defenses? Hand vacuum, air-in-a-can, and 409. My enemy’s? Another inch of dust overnight. This is a battle I don’t anticipate winning.

And, sometimes, it’s hard to tell whose side the cat is taking.


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