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Dear Mr. Person Who Represents a Developer

Dear Mr. Person Who Represents a Developer,

You already know my name because one of my neighbors told you. You also know my wife’s name. You also know someone has been sick the past couple days in another apartment. You know a lot of things about my building, the people in it, and you want to meet with my wife and I to divulge secrets and discuss a financial offer for my home.

What I don’t think you know that we know is you’re not actually the developer. You’re a kind of middleman. A liaison. Really, you’re a pariah. And you’re in cahoots with a particular neighbor of mine. This neighbor may in fact believe they’re doing something good by inviting you inside. What they don’t realize is you’re Nosferatu of the Real Estate sect. Once in, you can always come in.

There’s the familiar adage, “You can’t put Pandora back in the box.” Unfortunately, we, the building, are now suffering from it. One person’s greed, perhaps. Perhaps this person is in a financial bind. We understand you have offered this individual a $10,000 commission for every unit sold. On top of the meager profit, this neighbor will receive for their unit. I think you’ve underestimated the building. We don’t keep secrets. For better or worse.

The owners who live here are owners who want to die here. You really can’t put a price on that. But I hear you’re trying. And from the sound of it, it doesn’t even look like you’re trying. Yes I mean millions. Yes, you can stop laughing. But seriously. Not only do we own the joint, but we also own the air above it. Yeah. We can charge for future units. I said stop laughing, it’s making me nervous. 

Clearly, I’m a “no”. And so is my wife. And so is that live-in owner neighbor upstairs. And the live-in owner neighbor BBQing outside of their front door. And those live-in owner neighbors walking their dog. There’s more of us. Are we a perfect union? We sure are not. Can you divide and conquer? With some, sure. But unless you’re fitting us with concrete boots and throwing us in the bay we have as a backyard, you might as well consider our bodies a part of the building’s cinder blocks.

As much as you’re poisoning our well, you’re pissing in our pool. And we just got it refurbished. Yeah, I’ve been here for many of the assessments we’ve had to bring this building back from the dead. And you think can come down here, wave a badge (okay, made that part up), and shake us down for Pennie’s, relatively? You may be a nice person, with fairly pure intentions, but as soon as you start scheduling backroom lunches, you’ve already begun pitying us against each other.

Look. Whatever neighbor sold us out to you should avail themselves of their property. They don’t belong here. They may never have. And this person is the real sickness. You’re only a symptom. Who can know that kind of thing, right? Every process requires transparency. For example. I worked for a studio and it was time to negotiate. I remember asking my co-worker who was definitely friend material how much he asked for. I’d never been in this ditch before. And he didn’t tell me. I never looked at him the same again. That’s what you’re setting us up for. 

Shame on you.

As I said, we’re far from perfect. I’ve had to fake smile my way through dozens of conversations. But what I realized after living here with so many of them for nearly a decade is they feel the same way about this building as I do. I mean, I think we can all agree this place means more to my wife than anyone. And I’ll be damned if your plans get in the way of my wife’s favorite thing. So be a good guy. Back the fuck off. And forget about the time you tried destroying not only people’s houses but their lives. We are the building. The building is us. 

Yours Truly,

Travis Roig

P.S. If you find me two-tapped, that’s killer talk for putting two bullets in my head. If I’m still sort of sitting up on my couch, dead hands eating on my dead knees, and my cold dead body keeps teetering back and forth, know that it was this letter, and this letter alone, that brought this on. Check my Facebook hystery cache for the real culprit!”

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