Once they finely finish constructing these Condos, they’ll leave the trash for last: the bent pipes,the pooled gravel crunching under foot. If you examine the condo at night from South Congress Avenue, all pretense of Modernist hopefulness is abandoned, and all that’s left are rows of pre-fab apartment windows glowing faintly in the gloom. An exhausted looking Mexican hammers a few nails into a shelf, and prospective owners clutch wads of drawings. I whip out my binoculars and watch a couple clearly arguing near the driveway about the condo’s merits and deficits.The man waves his arms and seems to be shouting $350,000 for this? Ah, well. The money is flowing, and so is the bullshit. I hear the builders are considering buying up the land under the corner convenience store across the street from us and cramming this little neighborhood full of expensive taco stands and no place left to park. Fuck’ em.