After a combination of healthy deliberation, tedious meditation, and the occasional grilled crustacean, my wife and I decided it was time to leave Queens. Apparently, many New Yorkers agree, packing up their lives for the gator-infested swamplands of the alleged Sunshine state, famous for rain and rodents. We have rats, they have cartoon mice. So we headed south with the birds – pigeons, not geese. And not to Florida, but to Brooklyn. Where else?
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