bad news
He pointed out his old apartment, a rent stabilized unit on an upper floor with deliciously long bay windows and a view of Central Park. "I should have stayed there," he said.
"Why did you move?" I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "For a girl."
"Ah," I said in a playful tone, "it's always a girl. We're bad news."
"Yeah," he said softly, "but we are too."