AFTER A LONG child-enforced EXILE in THE SUBURBS, our man and his wife eagerly hightail it back TO THE CITY.
In Joshua Cohen’s new novel, Moving Kings—it’s about a company whose motto is “David King the Moving King Will Move Your Mother-trucking Everything”—there’s a character named Burrito Ron. You will enjoy reading about Burrito Ron. He’s a fellow who got his nickname by “pioneering the technique of taking a customer’s odd loose possessions and rolling them up in a rug for efficiency of transport.”
I’ve just made a big move, from rural New Jersey back into New York City (Harlem). I had my own version of Burrito Ron. I’ll call him Masking Tape Milo. Milo’s signature move was to seize every item in my house that wasn’t nailed down, squash it into a ball the size of a beanbag chair, and then run around it with wide masking tape, vacuum-sealing everything inside. My stuff resembles pods from which linty aliens will someday emerge. I’ve been slitting open some of these pods, so my fingers are sticky as I type this. Sitting amid this detritus, I’m a bit depressed. I still haven’t found some things I seriously need (a printer cord, a crucial notebook, my best sneakers). The kitchen isn’t set up, so I’m unable to cook. Eating out every night is fun until it isn’t anymore, until it makes you feel bloated and rootless. Moving exposes you existentially; it really lays you bare. It strands you between stations and makes you wonder who you are. “Three moves are as good as a fire,” Cormac McCarthy says. This must be why I am feeling scorched.
This story is from the December 2017 /January 2018 edition of Esquire.
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This story is from the December 2017 /January 2018 edition of Esquire.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
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