Finding the housing market here refreshing.
“A secret,” says San Francisco, in a stage whisper loud enough for every realtor to hear. Good luck with finding yourself a moldy little hovel, dear evictable friends.
Lofting all the way to the bank.
Imaginary numbers.
“This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence—even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche on the San Francisco rental market
Was lucky enough to be asked to share an origin story for SF Curbed’s compelling Rental Week coverage. Next I hope we get a look into everyone’s closets.
The search for a new home is always fractious, but as of late more so than usual. Poorly lit, the ever-widening chasm between ideal and reality sees you and raises you one bad apartment after another.
Hello again, 1998.
