Character: Andrea "Andy" Sachs (Andrea "Andy" Sachs). Page 2

... it was only two hours a day and I already wanted to die. That's just death was not included in the program.

Lily was a little too quirky to have something to do "everything", but we perfectly complement each other.

I led her to the bed, and barely touched the blanket, she fell backwards and immediately fell asleep. I stood and looked at her, and in my heart awoke longing for the University, according to our former life. Modern times was promised a lot of exciting, but they will never be as carefree. Never.

I loved to stand in the dark at the window of the office his omnipotent boss and watch the glowing lights of the restless new York. I imagined myself the heroine of the movie (you can choose any hot embrace of luxury, a wide terrace with a river view) and felt that I was on top of the world. And then flashed lamp, and my imagination dissipated. Disappear is inspired by the new York dawn of the feeling that on earth nothing is impossible...

The cost of this bag would be enough for me to pay the annual rent of the apartment, but Miranda liked to use it as a trash bag.

It is unlikely this meager belongings generally cost to label, but here I'm just being a Secretary.

I was thrilled that Emily finally found a common language. Finally, we are one team, shoulder to shoulder against a common enemy. I suddenly felt that this year could be very different, if only Emily and I immediately became friends and would trust each other, protect and insure each other and repulsed the aggressor. And it is quite probable, then life would be much easier and more joyful, but except for such rare moments like this, we looked at all the different eyes.

Any decent housing in Manhattan to find it was harder than any decent straight guy.

Excess calories do not find a place in their bodies, but occupied all their thoughts.

That's friends together to drink together, do silly things and care about each other.

He kissed me one of those long, lazy kiss, during which it seemed to us that we were made for each other.
He kissed me, one of those long, lazy kisses it seemed we had personally invented.

An elderly lady sitting in a small cart and holding a cardboard that says "homeless. You can wash the floors. Want to eat" received caramel machiato. I soon learned that her name was Teresa, and first bought her latte as Miranda. She always thanked him, but never touched coffee while it was still hot. When I finally asked her if I should stop bringing her coffee, she energetically shook his head and mumbled that I can't afford to be picky, but she would like something sweeter, because this coffee is too strong for her. The next day I brought her a latte with vanilla and whipped cream. Well, it's better? Oh yeah, it's much, much better, but perhaps too sweet. The day I finally hit her: it turned out that Teresa all the other varieties prefer unflavored coffee with whipped cream and burnt sugar. She breaks into a toothless smile and began to greedily swallow of coffee as soon as I handed her a Cup.
The old lady who propped herself up on her cart and set out a cardboard sign that read NO Home/CAN CLEAN/NEED FOOD got the Caramel Macchiato. I soon found her name was Theresa, and I used to buy her a tall latte, like Miranda's. She always said thank you, but she never made a move to taste it while it was still hot. When I finally asked her if she wanted me to stop bringing them, she vigorously shook her head and mumbled that she hates to be picky, but she'd actually like something sweeter, that the coffee was too strong. The next day I had her coffee flavored with vanilla and topped with whipped cream. Was this better? Oh yes, it was much, much better, but maybe now it was a touch too sweet. One more day and I finally got it right: it turns out Theresa liked her Coffee unflavored, topped with whipped cream and some caramel syrup. She flashed a near-toothless smile and began guzzling it each and every day, the moment I handed it to her.

Sometimes she phoned me and asked where her coffee, her lunch, where she is a special toothpaste for sensitive teeth enamel, it was nice to know that at least her teeth are sensitive when I haven't even left the building.
Sometimes she'd call me to ask where something was - her latte, her lunch, some special, sensitive-teeth toothpaste I'd been sent to find - it was comforting to discover that at least her teeth had a bit of sensitivity - and I hadn't even left the building yet.

To get out of bed was probably even heavier than on weekdays, although if I had to do it a few hours earlier. The body rebelled and tried to remind you to fill the notorious "sleep deficit" (know from the course psychology), but I hauled him out of bed.
Getting out of bed was, quite possibly, even harder to do than other days even though it was happening a few hours later. My body had been briefly tricked into thinking that it would actually get to catch up, had depended on reducing that infamous "sleep debt" we'd learned about in Psych 101, when I wrenched it from bed.