Yorkville, Manhattan

Oh, man, what are you doing with your life?

If somebody walked up to me on the street and said, "Oh, hey, Zach, how's it going? You've really lived such a great and virtuous sixty years that here, take my three million dollars," I would know immediately what I would do. I would hop on the 5 train, walk east down 86th Street, and buy one of the houses on Henderson Place.

As an old man in Manhattan, I would look back and say, "Yeah, I really did live a pretty good life. That was lucky of me. Now I live quietly in the smallest house on the Upper East Side, walk in the park every day, and play piano every night." I'd rent my ground floor apartment to destitute friends for free, make small talk with the various German shopkeepers, babysit their kids and live in a tiny brick house with a giant door and vines growing up and down the sides. Unwanted relatives would visit constantly.


Oh, man. Money cannot buy happiness with this single overriding exception.