Imagine you’re a financial advisor working at Goldman Sachs. You’re new, fresh out of college with a major in finance and minor in economics. The hustle and bustle of city, and the ‘get the bag’ energy of your job has you intoxicated. You just bought a lease on a new apartment on Fifth Ave. It’s small, but big for the city.

Decorative, but minimalistic. The modern feel is rounded out by an authentic brick wall behind the bar. It’s perfect, when I tell the ladies I work for Goldman, they won’t believe me.

When they see this place, they will think I run that damn bank. But don’t get too comfortable in that alligator leather chair, check the date pal, it’s September 29. September 29, 2008, and the stock market just dropped more then the average sperm count for Western men.

Before you can even say how much money you moved around, you get the dreaded message. You walk out of Goldman carrying a cardboard box, and what’s left of your ego. You walk back to your apartment, but you notice a note on the door, rent just went up. With your swanky new job down the toilet, and bills due, you have no choice. You sell the lease, and look for a new, more affordable place to stay while this all blows over.

Options are scarce, but one comes up that you can’t refuse.

East Bronx, 9th floor, cheap. You put away your pride, and sign the lease. Its a long way from Wall Street. You open the door to your new home, your first step in is marked by a loud creek. A subtle crack runs rought the floor, making a quiet entry impossible.

You flip on the lights, to be confronted with a dim flicker and a notable buzz from the LED lights. You throw down your keys, and sigh, feeling good? Well that’s about how it feels to live in 62 Park. Ah 62, good ol’ 62, where do I begin?

Located between the OC, Green house, and I house, its location is perfect for the international hiker who loves to smoke weed and enjoy the color green or something I’m not sure what the Green House is all about honestly.

Want to get absolutely hammered at the OC but don’t want to walk? No problem! Even when you’re piss-your-pants drunk you wont miss the giant commy-bloc right across the street.

But enough of that, let’s get into the good stuff, the interior.

Inside, you will find the first floor, home to like three people so its not very relevant. Although, the CA, Chris, lives there. Chris is British, so he’s cool.

On the second floor, you will find the most luxury apartments of 1970s recession America. And oh baby, you bet not a thing has changed since those golden years. The second floor hosts one bathroom with three stalls and three showers. The stalls are decent, by Dean Eaton standards, and the showers are perfect if you are from Iceland, and have only known freezing cold water your whole life.

And finally, the third floor. This floor is home to the worst type of people on planet earth. The type of people who blare party music at 1:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. The type of people that decide three in the morning is the best time to move every piece of furniture in their room. And that about wraps up 62 Park Street, the best housing on campus if the housing options were between it, a tent, or a fatal gunshot wound to the head.

And that about wraps up 62 Park Street, the best housing on campus if the housing options were between it, a tent, or a fatal gunshot wound to the head.