Trusting extended Japanese family with Rasta boyfriend, tall bratty flower child teenage daughter who loves a good mom, big heavy cruising bikes in the puny shared bunk bed room, homemade retro soft porn wallpaper, a very friendly biting scratching cat you don’t belly rub unless you miss cats so much like I did that it took me a couple days to learn I was supposed to play, not war, a shower that’s flow arrested and temperature temperamental with luxury suds, a neighborhood of enduringly bloated McMansions that leave no space for lawns except just big enough to mount their big security watchdog service signs, overpriced organic berries, wild kinky trees and manicured bushes. It’s really just a well run microscopic but real Bed and Breakfast, one of the only ones in NYC that could really be a poster child for AirBnB as a movement, a trip to 1969, baby.