When I was 20 years old, I was sharing a 200-sq-ft Manhattan studio with a woman twice my age.

We had a bunk bed: her on the top, me on the bottom.

And I hated her.

I was working at a tech startup run by a Norwegian guy and a Canadian woman.

The company was gaining steam.

But I was miserable.

I never wanted to be at home.

I would stay out for hours and hours, walking the streets of New York, going anywhere I could think of to avoid seeing her.

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