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 naïve speculator, will buy there?
Similar buildings converted at the peak of condomania in the late 70’s. None since. Until now.