Brooklyn Nights by Lesley Whyte

The room feels sticky, the air conditioning's out again. The windows are thrown open, hoping to tempt in a breeze. The room is still. Across the water, the bright lights of Manhattan, the place where dreams come true. Sitting together in the hot apartment - the apartment where the floor throbs with the bass from downstairs, the apartment where the futon doubles as the master bedroom, the apartment where the bare brick wall is hidden under towers of books - the beers in a bucket of ice and the lights turned down low...well, this is a kind of dream, too.