In the evermore expensive metropolis that is New York–regardless of the imminent L train shutdown “lowering” rents to what they actually should be–it’s inevitable that your path is going to cross a “man” who is a hobosexual at least once in your romantic tenure here. I just hope for your sake that it happens when you’re not still fresh off the boat, and therefore highly susceptible to whatever yarn they give you to make you believe that what they’re telling you (i.e. they give a shit about you) is real.
Because, trust me, it is not. He’s just trying to get into your apartment and pass it off as wanting to spend as much time with you as possible because he cares about you so much. He’ll even cook dinners and clean to “earn his keep,” except you won’t be fully aware that this is what he’s doing, as you get so accustomed to “being treated like a queen” when, in fact, you’re actually just providing someone with free housing.
After enough time, he’ll throw off the reins he’s implemented for himself and start doing even less around the apartment, relying solely on the fact that he fucks you sometimes to keep you off his “dick” (in both the metaphorical and literal senses, even though he doesn’t have one in either case). It is at this point that one or more of your roommates will stage an intervention and force you to toss him out and/or break up–even though you were never really in a relationship to begin with because hobosexuals are only attracted to easily preyed upon single women with a room to share–and you just happened to be one of them.