Honey, Stop the Car!

I'm a real estate agent. Million dollar homes, mostly, pretty big stuff. It's not out of the ordinary for me to net $30k in commission on one sale.

I know what shows.

I know what sells.

But this one guy... He was proving to be a tough case.

He was a multi-millionaire from his scent reseach operations. He had recently found the key molecules in fresh-bathed-puppy-smell.

Him: "Let's stop at this one!"

Me: "Uh, sir, that one is an abandoned wearhouse. You can tell from the graffitti that this is 'turf' is controlled by the 14TH ST CHOLOS LOCOS and I know from experience that they are some bad dudes. They control the Chiclet trade from here to Laredo."

Him: "Maybe it's really nice on the inside! Look, it's historic, the capstone says 1902!"

"Sir," I said forcefully, "You are manifesting your own horrid death if you buy this property. Eight of the last ten tenants died in their sleep, gunshot wounds to the head. The other two were found facedown in a pool of oily water in the back lot, the rainbow-shimmering water undulating peacefully around their heads like halos."

"Wow," he said, "That's so poetic! Let's go check it out!"

Gingerly stepping over the shotgun shells and broken crack vials, we made our way to the front door. The lock was encased in what appeared to be human feces, so putting my five years of hapkido training to good use, I channeled my wae-ki into my right arm and threw a cinderblock through the door, "kiiiHAP!!!"

In the middle of the room, piled almost eight feet high, were old rusting desks. Production reports and product catalogs ("PVC Refitters Outlet") from 1986 littered the floor, bunched up in some places in what seemed, to my eyes, to be C.H.U.D. nests.

"Just imagine, Ben, the things this building has seen. More than a century of the comings and goings of people. Two world wars, revolutions, deaths, births, it's.. I.. I can almost smell the memories!"

The smell, I was fairly certain, was PVC welding chemicals that had corroded their casings. The odor was insistant, demanding attention, not wanting to be forgotten. It's attack upon my olfactory nerves pushed me to speak rashly.

"Has your brain completely ceded authority to your empty ballsack, you gelding? Can't you see how decroded this building is? Can't you see that it was built carelessly, lived in carelessly, worked in carelessly, cared for carelessly? It will eventually be destroyed carelessly, and it will be replaced. Hopefully more carefully."

"Maybe it just needs someone to care for it, someone to love it. Just because it has problems isn't a reason to write it off as condemned. You have to be more patient with problem..."

"Sir, I apologize for interrupting, but you're talking about this building like it were a human, almost as if it were a woman. I don't understand what your connection is to these run down properties, but I have a fiduciary duty to warn you that your investment in this area will not return. Locations like this will swallow your money and your time whole. Pour all you want into cleaing up the outside, it's still unlivable inside. Clean up the inside too.. well, so what, in this location it will only attract that much more crime. Your opinion aside, buildings aren't humans, they can't change where they are. Only an act of God would make this property worth anything."

"I..." he started.

Massaging the smooth spot on his ring finger where a band had once been, he began to cry quietly. Outside a car rolled slowly by, its thumping bass sent small tremors through my chest.