One of the benefits of growing up poor is a certain inoculation from the American Dream. Despite home ownership being celebrated as a rite of adulthood and a key to wealth accumulation, a childhood among lifelong renters exposed me to the benefits of being able to call a landlord when the toilet stops working and having flexibility when life veers in different directions.
While today’s apartment market has become a nightmare, limited to so-called “luxury” units at absurd prices, I’ve had a queer journey with leases across Atlanta and could make a strong case as the happiest – or even the last happy – renter in America.
Although the duplexes and triplexes that housed Midtown’s queers in the ’70s and ’80s were being converted into single-family homes, it was relatively easy for a single person to find an apartment when I moved to Atlanta after graduating college in 2003.
Even then, $650 felt like Midtown inflation for my first studio apartment, but the upcharge was worth being a 24-year-old in the center of the gayborhood.
Read more on thegavoice.com