The Art of the Deal
Builders took over my block, and all I got was a “rain garden.”
Cover Story
Gentlemen, start your bulldozers.
Let’s begin in Northwest. I want to lay some concrete over, say, all of it. Now you masons: Stack the brick. Build it up. Higher, dammit. Yes. Build it up so it cleaves the clouds. Pokes a hole through the sun. Slaps the Milky Way into a lower-rent neighborhood. Yes. Yes! Yes! Build it to...God!
It’s fortunate most of us aren’t privy to the wet dreams of D.C. developers, lest our society spend all its time at the cleaners. No, most of us have to rely on our observations to assess the rapacity behind the city’s growth. Not that you’d need eyes. You could just as easily walk blind in any direction until you hit a wall. Odds are a construction guy on scaffolding above you will be yelling at you to get your goddamn ass off the work site.
Though you would never guess it in our Reign of Crane, there are limits to how tall, how dense, and how many developers can build. Every so often, one stumbles into an impediment that precludes a thorough deleafing of the money tree. There are historic horse barns and obstinate landowners, and then there’s the biggest impediment of them all: wimpy zoning. Can you construe “single-family dwelling” to mean 85 rooms for cousins thrice removed and lost Aunt Myrtles? Probably not, though that’s not to say nobody has tried.... Continued
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