Now, while this apartment is new to me, the building was completed in 1932.
Which means this lone pubic hair could have survived The Great Depression, Vietnam and the Disco Era.
At the very least, the person whose hairy nest it fell from could have seen “Cats” on its first Broadway run.
Let the speculation begin. Did this lone pubic hair belong to some saucy 1950’s secretary, whose conservative work attire hid a bullet bra overflowing with bombastic boobs?
Perhaps it belonged to a horny 1960’s politician, who kept this apartment for romps with a revolving door of giggling, mini-skirted mistresses.
Or a 1970’s Pan Am pilot, who enjoyed coke-fueled orgies here while the quadrophonic stereo system blared the sweet sounds of Peaches and Herb.
Or maybe it belonged to a slick stock broker in the 1980s or a strange, lonely woman in the 1990s who spent too much time with her parakeet.
Or maybe…it belongs to you? I guess we’ll never know.