Spider-Man
$1,200 in NYC

NARRATOR: Peter Parker is a 23-year-old freelance photographer looking for his first solo apartment in Manhattan. He currently lives with his Aunt May in Queens but says he's ready for independence. His budget is $1,200 a month, which in New York City will get you a closet with a hotplate or a bathtub in the kitchen — if you're lucky.

PETER: I need high ceilings. Really high. Like, 14-foot minimum. It's for... yoga. I do a lot of aerial yoga.

REALTOR DAVE: Fourteen-foot ceilings on $1,200 a month. In Manhattan.

PETER: Is that a problem?

DAVE: *stares into the middle distance* No, no. Let's see what we can do.

PETER: Also, the windows need to open. Like fully open. From the outside. And I need a building with no doorman. Or a doorman who doesn't care about... hours. Or costumes. I mean clothing. Regular clothing that I wear at normal times.

Peter's phone buzzes. It's Aunt May on FaceTime. She will call six more times before the episode ends.

AUNT MAY: *on FaceTime* Peter, are you eating? You look thin. Tell the realtor you need a kitchen. A real kitchen. Not one of those hot plates. And is the neighborhood safe? Let me see the street. Turn the camera around.

PETER: May, I'm in the middle of—

AUNT MAY: Is that the realtor? Hi! I'm May. Make sure there's a fire escape. Peter sleeps with the window open. I worry.

DAVE: So this is a charming studio in the East Village. Great neighborhood. Lots of character.

PETER: It's very... small.

DAVE: I prefer "efficient."

PETER: The ceiling is eight feet. I can touch it standing up.

DAVE: It's great for cozy vibes.

PETER: I could just... live on the ceiling? Would that help with the space issue? If I put my bed on the ceiling, the floor opens right up.

DAVE: That's... not how apartments work.

PETER: You'd be surprised.

Peter's phone rings. Aunt May, FaceTime #2.

AUNT MAY: Peter, is that a bathtub in the kitchen? I can see it behind you. That's not a kitchen, that's a health code violation. Tell the man no. NO.

DAVE'S INNER MONOLOGUE: He asked if he could put his bed on the ceiling. He said it casually, like he was suggesting a different paint color. I've been a realtor for nine years and nobody has ever asked me about ceiling beds. His aunt is right about the bathtub, though. That is a health code violation.

DAVE: Now, this one is over your budget—

PETER: *looking up* Oh my God. Those ceilings. I could do so much yoga up there.

DAVE: It's $3,400 a month. Almost triple your—

PETER: I could sell more photos. I get great action shots. You would not believe the angles I get. Like, physically impossible angles. I'm very flexible.

DAVE: You'd need to sell a lot of photos.

PETER: J. Jonah Jameson pays me $150 per Spider-Man photo. If I just... took more photos of Spider-Man... which I can definitely do because I know where he hangs out... that's like... math... okay the math doesn't work.

Peter climbs onto the kitchen counter to test the ceiling height. Dave notices Peter's shoes stick to the counter surface in a way that defies physics. He decides not to ask about it.

AUNT MAY: *FaceTime #3* Peter Benjamin Parker, get off that counter right now. I can see you. And $3,400? You eat ramen four nights a week. You cannot afford $3,400. Tell the man. TELL HIM.

PETER: *whispering to Dave* Is there any way to make this work? I'll give up eating. I barely eat anyway. Enhanced metab— I mean, I'm just naturally thin.

DAVE'S INNER MONOLOGUE: His shoes stuck to the counter. I watched it happen. He stood on a granite countertop at a 45-degree angle and didn't fall. His aunt is on FaceTime for the third time and I'm starting to think she's the real decision-maker here. She's right, though. He eats ramen four nights a week. He cannot afford $3,400.

DAVE: Last option. It's technically in Queens—

PETER: I said Manhattan.

DAVE: You said $1,200. In Manhattan, $1,200 gets you a parking spot. In Queens, it gets you an actual apartment. With a bathroom. That isn't in the kitchen.

PETER: ...How far from my Aunt May's place?

DAVE: Six blocks.

PETER: That's... that's independence? Six blocks is independence?

DAVE: It's your own lease. That counts.

The apartment is a fifth-floor walk-up with 10-foot ceilings, no doorman, and windows that face an alley — perfect for discreet exits. Peter immediately starts looking at the corners where walls meet the ceiling with an expression Dave can only describe as "longing."

AUNT MAY: *FaceTime #5, now physically walking toward the building* Peter, I'm six blocks away. I'm coming to see it. Don't sign anything until I get there. Is there a fire escape? I told you about fire escapes. And the alley — is it well-lit? I'm bringing a casserole.

PETER: She's bringing a casserole to the apartment showing.

DAVE: I've never had a client's family member bring food to a showing before, but honestly, I skipped lunch.

NARRATOR: After weighing his options — and seven FaceTime calls from Aunt May — Peter has made his decision.

PETER: I'm going with the Queens walk-up. It's under budget, no doorman, alley-facing windows, and the ceilings are... adequate for my yoga practice.

DAVE: And it's six blocks from your aunt.

PETER: *long pause* That's a... feature. She makes really good casserole.

AUNT MAY: *already in the apartment, unpacking kitchen supplies* I've already measured the windows for curtains. And I brought your old bedsheets. And a first aid kit. A big one. You always need first aid kits, Peter, and I never understand why.