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Tag: And Just Like That season two

  • SATC’s Most Titillating Character Gets the Limpest Cameo of All Time

    SATC’s Most Titillating Character Gets the Limpest Cameo of All Time

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    While many had foolishly expressed excitement over the prospect of seeing Kim Cattrall reprise her role as Samantha Jones (even if only for seventy-five seconds) on the second season of And Just Like That…, rightfully jaded types knew that no good could come of it. Only irritation (no STD pun intended). And sure, there have been some real shitty/disappointing cameos in television history (though none of them were ever on I Love Lucy), but this one really takes the cake (second only to another certain cameo on SATC by The Orange One). Indeed, the flimsy cameo by Cattrall as Samantha was matched only by Samantha’s even flimsier excuse to Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) for being unable to attend the final dinner in her “single girl” apartment. An apartment so “fabulous!” that Samantha was willing to ignore the tenuous relationship she’s had of late with Carrie, Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte (Kristin Davis). This being established from the outset of And Just Like That… as a reason to explain away the fact that Cattrall didn’t want to sign on for this travesty. Until they must have made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Complete with the promise that she wouldn’t even have to film in the same room as SJP. 

    Instead, the phone call method would suffice. And Samantha is no stranger to phone call scenes (one of which Selena Gomez recently lip synced to promote “Single Soon”). Nor is Carrie, for that matter, who would often get minutes of script written for her coast-to-coast calls to Big (Chris Noth) during his California stint. So it is that Carrie greets her with the cheeseball line, “Hello London.” Never mind that this was the woman who could barely be bothered to text Carrie back after she said things like, “I miss you” to Samantha without any shame. Samantha’s lack of response to that text didn’t stop Carrie from continuing to speak to her as though she were a silent god, informing her that she kissed someone for the first time in the wake of Big’s death (and yes, Samantha did have the decency [?] to send showboating flowers to Big’s funeral). This was, apparently, enough to coax Samantha out of her silence, assuring Carrie that they would talk “soon.” When no text or call arrived after that, Carrie again took the initiative while standing on the Pont des Arts bridge in Paris (after scattering Big’s ashes, even though that’s not exactly “legal”—but who’s going to stop a rich white lady from doing what she wants?) to text her ex-bestie. The message?: “I’m in Paris, want to meet for a cocktail?” (No, she does not). For whatever reason, Samantha gets back right away with the reply, “How’s tomorrow night?” Carrie confirms, “FABULOUS.” That goddamn word that reiterates, every time, what era of gay man wrote these characters.

    This exchange, needless to say, is a far cry from Miranda telling Carrie in the first episode of And Just Like That…, “Hello It’s Me,” “You know, it is kind of like she’s dead. Samantha. We never even talk about her.” Carrie shrugs, “Well, what is there to say?” before giving the phony/hyper-expository backstory about how Samantha “dropped her as a friend” when Carrie “dropped her a publicist,” then going on to victimize herself by noting, “I thought I was more to her than an ATM.” Miranda confirms that she and Charlotte are still being iced out as well, remarking, “We texted and called, but we never heard back.” Never mind that it’s not in Samantha’s nature to be passive aggressive over confrontational. If she had a problem with Carrie, not only would she be direct about it (as she was when Carrie judged her for blowing the Worldwide Express guy), but she wouldn’t punish Miranda and Charlotte by extending her anger to them as well. 

    Alas, what can the writers do when Cattrall has been so unaccommodating…until now. “At least” bothering to make a cameo that further reiterates she will never actually be appearing on the show. Delivering her lines to Razzie Award-level perfection when she declares, “My flight’s three hours delayed Carrie, I won’t be able to make it there in time.” Carrie acts like she has no idea what Samantha might be referring to when she asks, “In…in time for what?” Samantha exclaims, “The last supper. Miranda and Charlotte told me all about it. I was gonna surprise you.” Again, we’re supposed to believe Samantha suddenly shifted from “dark mode” to texting everyone freely. But, of course, because her presence, telephonic or otherwise, is still so rare, Carrie acts like a teen girl whose crush has finally given her the time of day when she replies, “Oh my gosh. Well you did, I’m very surprised.”

    Samantha keeps carrying on the “breezy” conversation by adding, “Well the fog finally lifted. But the crew? Maxed out. Oh I am fucking furious.” Carrie then asks us to suspend our disbelief further by assuming that Samantha would come for anything longer than a dinner by saying, “No, no, no. Don’t worry. We’ll just get together tomorrow.” Samantha reminds her ex-bestie who the fuck she is by explaining, “Honey, I just left Heathrow. I was flying back on the first flight in the morning.” With Carrie incredulous that she would fly “all the way to New York” (a mere five hours from London) just to come to her party, Samantha adds, “Well it is your apartment and I have to pay my respects.” This mimics her attachment to it in the Sex and the City movie from 2008, during which Samantha flies out from L.A. (instead of just pretending she was going to fly out from London) to help Carrie pay the so-called necessary respects to her “single girl” apartment that she’s not getting rid of, per se, so much as moving out of to be in a more spacious apartment that Big bought for them. Although no one is expecting Samantha to show up (just as no one is in “The Last Supper Part Two: Entrée”), her arrival is met with screaming delight as Samantha explains, “A lot of shit went down in this place. Attention must be paid.”

    And it is, as the four women (plus Charlotte’s daughter, Lily, who would have been roughly four years old at the time), proceed to put on a fashion show of Carrie’s clothes for one another. Because, in case even the person with the most casual knowledge of Sex and the City wasn’t aware, clothes are “a thing” with this show. Rivaled only by shoes and purses. Yes, it’s often superfluous in the city, but no one ever said New York wasn’t the world’s main hub for capitalism. Carrie’s friendships are proof of that, with the likelihood of these women remaining friends if one of them had strayed from the “correct” socioeconomic path being nil. Even “starving artist” Carrie manages to out-rich everyone in the group by marrying Big (then later inheriting his fortune). This being how she’s able to keep her “single girl” apartment as a “spare” even when she moves out of it in the Sex and the City movie. Which, of course, turns out to be handy when Big leaves her with her metaphorical dick in the wind by clamming up and not being able to come to the wedding venue (a.k.a. 42nd Street NYPL) to marry her. Making continuous unanswered calls to her saying that he can’t go in without her, like the scared little puto he is. 

    And so, even though “it took four friends three days to put twenty years into thirty-eight boxes,” Carrie hires an assistant to help her unbox all that shit and put it back in the “single girl” apartment she couldn’t give up until Aidan (John Corbett) came back along in the And Just Like That… era. As the years went on before this point, it appeared as though nothing would have ever convinced Carrie to give up that place, so intertwined as it is with her identity. Not just for Carrie, but for Samantha, too. Which is why we’re expected to believe she would break down all her barriers to materialize for “The Last Supper.”

    Instead, she makes Carrie hold the phone up on speaker so she say, “Thank you for everything. You fucking fabulous, fabulous flat.” Carrie interrupts with, “Uh, Samantha, do you have a British accent?”And yes, to add to the extremely forced aura of this cameo, the writers conjured the SATC “Easter egg” of Annabelle Bronstein, the woman whose Soho House card Samantha used in season six to gain entry into the exclusive pool. And the same episode where the non sequitur cameo of Geri Halliwell occurred. Now matched only by the non sequitur cameos from Sam Smith and Samantha in this season of And Just Like That… But wait, as Cattrall asks, “Who’s Samantha? This is Annabelle Bronstein. I’m from Injuh.”

    And just like that, in roughly one minute and fifteen seconds, Cattrall effectively ruined her character by bothering to do this cameo at all, choosing not to stick to her guns about refusing to be involved in this latest “chapter.” As Samantha would have said, “These bitches need to be put in their places.” By not kowtowing to their desire to “use” her again. Especially for such banal and mundane purposes.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • No Sexual Pun Intended, But And Just Like That… Is Completely Overstuffed (With Characters)

    No Sexual Pun Intended, But And Just Like That… Is Completely Overstuffed (With Characters)

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    Perhaps because it takes a literal army to distract from the reality that Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) is no longer part of the narrative, And Just Like That… has packed the series full of additional characters. Characters who, to put it sexually, simply cannot be serviced. Not correctly, anyway. From the occasionally-referred-to Stanford (RIP Willie Garson) to the barely regarded Nya (Karen Pittman), the grab bag assembled here makes for plots that come across as half-cooked and decidedly “tacked on” at the last minute. 

    That has never been more overt than in the first part of season two’s deux-part finale, “The Last Supper Part One: Appetizer,” which even has to remember that Steve (David Eigenberg) is still technically a part of the narrative as well. Ergo, opening the episode with Carrie and Aidan visiting him at his new hot dog and clam outpost in Coney Island, where Carrie has, rather unsurprisingly, never ventured out to before.

    Doing its “best” to give everyone a dramatic, “sea change afoot” sort of cliffhanger, the central focus, of course, is still Carrie and Aidan. More to the point, the inevitability of how their relationship will flop this time around. Because obviously it will. That’s the nature of any series. The endless ups and downs until a final up can be offered to audiences when the show is actually over. Though the SATC women (even Cattrall, in her own cameo way) have made it apparent they never want it to be with this “new chapter.” And with the constant addition of characters, God or whoever knows there’s endless room for multiple spinoffs. Even though no one is really that interested in these “externals.” Not just because the writers do little to imbue them with much dimensionality, but because the audience knows full well they’re only there to overcompensate for 1) Samantha rightfully throwing up a peace sign to her friendship with a narcissist like Carrie and 2) provide “reparations” for the original series displaying no diversity despite New York laying claim to being among the most diverse cities in the world (though it comes across as fairly homogenous on the socioeconomic status front, largely due to what television is willing to portray and how much it really does cost to live in “the greatest” city in the world—ha!). 

    That said, we’re forced to pretend we really care about/are invested in the plotlines of Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker) or Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) or Seema Patel (Sarita Choudhury) or Nya Wallace. Their mini melodramas occasionally peppered in between the scenes of the usual cringe conversations and plotlines of the original trio. This includes Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon) catastrophic dabblings with queerdom, Carrie’s self-imposed challenges with Aidan and Charlotte’s (Kristin Davis) realization that her life is essentially being a slave to her husband and children. Which brings us to the fact that, of late, Charlotte, of all people, has become the most interesting and divergent from her original character. Branded as everything from a “cum slut” (after getting depressed that Harry [Evan Handler] suddenly has retrograde ejaculation issues) to a deadbeat mother in her bid to return to being a full-time career woman, Charlotte has turned out to have the most engaging and entertaining journey compared to her “peers.” Not to mention one that has forced her character to at least somewhat challenge herself. A self, she would like to remind her family, that existed (even if presently dormant) long before they ever entered the picture and expected her to be “a certain way.” And then forever stay that way despite also mocking her for having no life outside of them. When she actually decides to go and get one, it’s suddenly too much. They can’t make dinner! They can’t order takeout decorously! They can’t wipe their own asses! They can’t live without her! Never mind the fact that they hated how over-involved she was before. Now it’s all they crave. 

    But because And Just Like That…’s new focus seems to be on the perennial 80s career girl question of whether or not a woman can “have it all” (and according to Samantha in the “All or Nothing” episode of Sex and the City, they can), Charlotte is getting the stereotypical family that “can’t deal” treatment. So, too, is Lisa, slapped with a pregnancy plot “twist” that makes zero sense amid her contempt for her positively filled-with-retro-viewpoints husband, Herbert (Chris Jackson). A man we keep wondering about in terms of how Lisa—a supposedly self-empowered artistic woman—would possibly be able to continue tolerating him. He’s honestly the worst. Apart from Nya’s shitty erstwhile husband, Andre (LeRoy McClain), who ends up impregnating another woman real quick after they agree to separate. In fact, that’s really about all we know of Nya’s “personality,” other than her inherent pastry chef skills after making a chocolate soufflé for herself on Valentine’s Day. And, oh yeah, she’s a professor who we haven’t seen do much teaching since Miranda took her class in season one. Which, again, makes it all very clear that these characters are straight-up filler. Yet they wouldn’t have to be if the series creators/writers didn’t feel obliged to pack the show to the gills with a slew of characters they can’t actually “tend to” (once more, no sexual innuendo intended). 

    Another one being Che, who, since their breakup with Miranda (a relationship that never computed in the first place), has intermittently been incorporated via scenes of them working at the veterinary office they’ve returned to after things in Hollywood didn’t pan out. The writers feel adding a few kernels of their flirtation with Toby (Alex Lugo), who comes into the office with a box of abandoned kittens, will not only suffice, but also give them a reason to want to go back to stand-up again. Even though, as we find out in the episode that follows, this plotline was really in service of Miranda. More to the point, shaming and humiliating Miranda. 

    Then, not to leave the “gay man box” unchecked, there’s still Anthony (Mario Cantone) and, presently, his younger Italian boo, Giuseppe (Sebastiano Pigazzi). For, without them, there wouldn’t be the “why should a man be limited to being a top or bottom when he can be both?” conversation. In truth, just when things feel like they might actually boil over to a moment of real tension, Michael Patrick King chooses to cut away to the next scene, remembering he has to get back to Seema, saddled with the “plot” of embarrassingly telling her “slapdash” man of the moment, Ravi (Armin Amiri), “I love you” in the midst of him chastely fucking her. The scene is given all of twenty seconds before King then moves to yet another minor character we had forgotten about because she pops up so randomly: Lisette Alee (Katerina Tannenbaum). Her presence being “necessary” in order for Carrie to “pass the baton” that is her “single girl apartment” to another single (white) girl. The only genre of human she would feel comfortable relinquishing her abode to. 

    Meanwhile, Miranda and Charlotte’s own lives are starting to become as filled with “subplot characters” as Carrie’s. Shit, even Che has to have a new subset of characters in their life because of their job (this being Judy [Patricia Black], her supervisor at the vet). And so, once again, jobs prove to be everyone’s bane (even in fictional worlds) thanks to creating way too many additional excess sub-sub-characters for the already excess amount of sub-characters. 

    On this note, while Charlotte has gone back to art dealing at the Kasabian Gallery (not a real place, in case you wanted to confirm), Miranda has been “gifted” with the opportunity to go from an intern to replacing her boss, Raina (Evelyn Howe), now on maternity leave. Making Raina, plus Miranda’s jealous coworkers (/enduring interns), “subplot characters” too. When Miranda goes to the UN for some work-related obligation, she also meets another lawyer type and has an exchange that seems completely superfluous unless they’re planning to make this woman Miranda’s next steady vag. This brings us to Charlotte and her new trio of gallery workers wanting to celebrate her big sale of an Alex Israel painting to Sam Smith (himself a new “character” briefly added into the mix, as though in the spirit of SATC cameos of yore, like Lucy Liu…or Geri Halliwell). 

    Lela (Bonnie Milligan), the coworker who made Charlotte feel better about her “fat” stomach (just another way And Just Like That… gets “inclusivity” wrong), manages to coax her into going out for after-work drinks (when Charlotte initially declines) by saying, “Big yikes, girl. You are the main character.” One can only say to themselves in response, “I wish.” Because someone being a main character on this show would require far fewer people to distract from such a concept. 

    Fittingly enough, in the poster for season two, the positioning of each character is so telling of where things stand with the series in terms of all “non-originals” being purely background. Which is exactly how they’re presented in the promo poster. What’s more, if characters keep cropping up at this rate, it’s safe to say the series writers really will need to take financial advantage of the unavoidable spinoff era of And Just Like That… Itself sort of a spinoff more than “a new chapter.” And, like most spinoffs, this one keeps jumping the shark. 

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Why Aidan’s Visceral Reaction to Not Wanting to Go Into Carrie’s Apartment Ever Again Is Emblematic of New York-Specific PTSD

    Why Aidan’s Visceral Reaction to Not Wanting to Go Into Carrie’s Apartment Ever Again Is Emblematic of New York-Specific PTSD

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    With the latest episode of And Just Like That…, the one everyone is raving about/saying it’s marked a shift for the better in the series, director Ry Russo-Young opens on a scene of Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) in bed wearing a shirt that says, “The Most New York You Can Get.” It’s a fitting way to kick off “February 14th,” as the most New York you can actually get is being incapable of walking down certain streets or going into certain places. Not because it’s too expensive, but because, in another iteration of your life, you were emotionally wounded there. Irrevocably.

    They say you can be traumatized anywhere, but, in truth, there’s no more affecting place for experiencing trauma than one, New York City. The “greatest” city in the world isn’t so great when every street corner, every establishment and, yes, every apartment is a potential landmine for unwanted memories bubbling to the surface and causing the long-buried pain to feel oh so fresh. The usual staunch defenders of the city might say that there’s nowhere else on Earth that can give you such “profound” experiences (most of which include, at some point, vomiting on the subway). That nowhere else will “give you the chance” to feel so much…until you ultimately feel nothing at all. Numbness as a defense mechanism. Repackaged as New Yorkers being “experts at minding their own business.” When, the fact is, they’ve been trained to turn off any reaction whatsoever in the name of self-protection. And perhaps being smug about what Carrie once phrased as: “The fact is [New Yorkers have] pretty much done and seen it all. It takes quite a bit to shock us.”

    The same goes for Sex and the City-turned-And Just Like That… viewers, who have seen it all when it comes to Carrie’s relationship pattern. Which goes: Big, Aidan, Big, Aidan, Big…and now Aidan again. What with his character being the last man standing after “John” died (and, to an extent, Chris Noth…when his career died). The stale story maneuver to pivot in this direction yet again presumes that Aidan doesn’t have the self-respect to cut Carrie loose for good—the way Carrie didn’t in order to do the same to Big.

    Such lack of self-respect is something that’s actually not that far-fetched when considering how long people choose to stay in New York after “making a life” there—the ultimate euphemism for, “Well, I found a job and enough people to get drunk with so why rock the boat and leave?” Except that Aidan actually did, only to be pulled back in by the woman who once asked the question that proves why New Yorkers are the most annoying breed on the planet: “I’m always surprised when anyone leaves New York. I mean where do they go?” Probably to a place with fewer triggers. 

    And yet, Carrie is only too down to be the triggerer when she invokes the spirit that is Aidan by reaching out to him via email. Which is ironic for the person who once insisted (in yet another episode when her romance with him was about to be rekindled), “I don’t believe in email. I’m an old-fashioned gal. I prefer calling and hanging up.” In 2023, Carrie is slightly less puerile, but not by much…she still abruptly closes her computer like a scared little girl when she sees that there’s a new message from him in her inbox. This, of course, harkening back to the “Baby, Talk Is Cheap” episode where she does cave in to signing up for an email address (already late to the game in 2001) and AIM account (again, 2001). Her one “Buddy” on that messaging apparatus being “AidanNYC” (this lack of originality certainly suits Carrie’s writing style). And when his screen name appears online, she has a pre-OK Boomer moment when she freaks out and asks, “Oh my God, he’s online! Can he see me?” Miranda, not bothering to explain to her the finer points of how the internet works, assures her that, no, he cannot see her. At least not literally. 

    Galvanized, she gets up and heads over to his apartment, having initially told Miranda in an unsent email, “Aidan says he’s not interested, but he seems interested.” This being Rapist Logic 101. Which is further emphasized by her phone conversation with Miranda during which she says, “His words said no, but his kiss said yes” and “I know he still feels it.” Apparently, they both still do decades later. Even if Carrie should be off-put by how Aidan is dressed like Elvis trying to make Army attire fashionable. 

    After making their rendezvous for “February 14th,” as though pretending each has no idea what that means, another callback to previous episodes of SATC occurs when Carrie starts to think she’s being stood up. Maybe Aidan is just a scorpion who lured her into his stinging trap of retribution for all the emotional torment she caused him (which is really what he should have done). Channeling “The Agony and the ‘Ex’-tasy” episode where she waits interminably at Il Cantinori for people to show up to the birthday dinner she didn’t want to have, Carrie starts to feel exposed when she sees Aidan is already ten minutes late (this also echoing the season two episode where Samantha gets stood up at a restaurant by a guy who “we’d” his way all the way home). But no, turns out there was a mixup (Il Cantinori/El Cantinoro-style) and he’s simply at the restaurant next door. To be sure, the symbolism of these two still not being in the same place bears noting. Even if there’s the emphasis that they’re now both “on the same page.” 

    Though they never were before, least of all in season four, when Carrie, again, practically begged him to ignore his better judgment and be with her. “You broke my heart!” he finally screams after she makes the selfish case for them getting back together in “Baby, Talk Is Cheap.” Perhaps aware of the power she holds over him when, minutes later, he gives in and runs to her apartment (after she childishly runs away from his because he rightly berated her) to bone, Carrie can make the connection that she is the Big in his life. The one great love he can’t say no to…no matter how poorly she treats him. And there’s something to be said for the parallel to how NYC residents also view New York. No matter how toxic, unhealthy or straight-up miserable it is, its status as a “great love” means it can do no wrong, regardless of the repeated joy it seems to get from burning those who “love” it so much. If by “love” what is meant is delighting in masochism and calling it “making a sacrifice for something wonderful.” 

    After their sexual reunion in “Baby, Talk Is Cheap,” Aidan asks Carrie, “You wanna do this to make up for the past? Relieve your conscience?” She insists that no, the reason she wants to get back together is, “I still love you.” He pretends he needs to think about it, but the next morning, he’s outside her window, calling out, “Okay let’s give it a shot.” “You wanna come up?” she replies. Even then, he avoided it, insisting he has to take Pete for a walk. Perhaps knowing, in some way, that Carrie’s “single girl” apartment was going to be his bane. And that’s what it still ultimately is. For Carrie will always see herself that way: someone who can just flit about like the twenty-something NY “it girl” she can’t shake from her self-perception. 

    Maybe that’s why she doesn’t pre-fathom how jarring it will be for Aidan to see the apartment again, taking him there after dinner. Not realizing where they are until he gets out of the cab, his face falls as he remarks, “When you said go back to your place, I just thought you had a different place… At the restaurant, I just thought, ‘How great. This feels really great. We’re back where we started.’ But this is where we ended. With the fuckin’ wall I couldn’t break through and those floors, remember, that I redid? It’s all bad. And it’s just, it’s all in there.”

    Carrie soothes, “Okay yes, it’s the same place, but we’re not in the same place.” Constantly assuring him that she’s different (therefore, “it’s” different) and better every time they’re about to start things up anew, Aidan can’t quite grasp the veracity of that declaration when she’s continued to live in the same apartment. So unaffected by all the shit that went down there. He finally says, “I can’t go in there again with all that.” Aidan’s trauma response is the culmination of the number New York (and those who flock there) can do to a person. So much that said person can’t even seem to grasp the way they feed on the psychological deterioration it causes after a while. Which is why Aidan then whips around and announces, “Hey, fuck it. This is New York. They have hotels, right?” Aidan’s sudden desire to bang in hotels in lieu of ever going back into that trauma epicenter called Carrie’s apartment also provides an interesting full-circle moment in that Carrie had her affair with Big in hotels throughout Manhattan during season three (side note: another callback to the original series is when Carrie uses the cheesy “Great Sexpectations” pun that served as the title of SATC’s second episode of season six). 

    Alas, like those who move back to New York after leaving it, Aidan ignores all the reasons he left (both the city and the relationship) so that he can learn the hard way, yet again, that Carrie, the so-called embodiment of the city (see: “The Most New York You Can Get”), will only cause more pain. For what could possibly go wrong if he refuses to set foot in the apartment she would never abandon? This made peak evident in season four’s “Ring A Ding Ding,” when Carrie is faced with the very real possibility of losing her underpriced abode as she, funnily enough, is forced to buy it back from Aidan after their relationship ends, again. 

    Yet what Carrie is most upset about isn’t Aidan, but the apartment. Pacing the “living room,” she gives the voiceover, “As I thought about leaving the apartment I had lived in for the past decade, I realized how much I would miss it. Through everything, it had always been there for me.” So yes, Carrie 1) loves her apartment too much to ever leave and 2) has the type of Stockholm Syndrome that would never allow her to see that the apartment is the source of the trauma she refers to with “through everything.” There’s a reason Aidan is smart enough to believe that no amount of sage could get rid of the energy in that place, and that Carrie’s apartment is nothing but “bad juju.” Of course, so is New York itself, with all the places one is initially so fond of while they’re at an emotional crest falling prey to the invariable emotional dip once such places become tied to pain.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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