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Another day at the office, finished. I was so thankful that it was Friday. I paid the cabby and then opened the cab door, struggling to pull my briefcase and Kenneth Cole purse out of the door before the overzealous cab driver zoomed off to find another fare. I had barely slammed the door when he raced off, going to make another dollar in the Big Apple. I cursed as I tripped over the curb, almost snapping the heel off my shoe. The cold New York wind whipped my long hair across my face, stinging my cheeks. I swore that one day I was going to move, but nowhere else paid as much for Interior Design as New Yorkers did. I climbed the 9 stairs to the front door of my building where Arthur, the doorman, stood waiting.

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