When I turned 33-years-old, I decided it was time for me to become a "real adult" and do things real adults do — eat meals at a table, learn what a stock is, and maybe even buy a house.
The former goals were what I could foreseeably accomplish, the latter was what I wanted most of all. All of my high school classmates did it, even the ones who couldn't tell the difference between Martin Luther and Martin Luther King Jr. As someone who has plenty of unresolved adolescent psychodrama, I refused to accept defeat.
So I downloaded multiple housing apps and did what I knew best: I swiped.
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