In 1989, recently divorced and completely broke, I moved into an amenity-free mid-rise building on the edge of the Gold Coast. My fellow tenants were cab drivers, transients and a fair assortment of the city’s walking wounded.
It was a mean little apartment: one little room and a cramped bath with an undersized tub, a kitchen nook with no counter space, one closet, radiator heat, seasonally-rented window air conditioners, and paper-thin walls. No space for a table to eat at. No parking. Nothing like a home.
The building is now converting to condos, a sure sign of a market that’s “slipped the surly bonds of earth.” Who, other than the most naÃ¯ve speculator, will buy there?
Similar buildings converted at the peak of condomania in the late 70’s. None since. Until now.