Break Street, in the northeast edge of Seattle, is a typical exercise in urban rot: a plumb-straight thoroughfare that, over the course of two miles, hosts a grim parade of adult bookstores, pawnshops, gun dealers, and abandoned warehouses. Neither pretty nor safe, Break Street isn’t particularly well-traveled; and the absence of any drug dealers or prostitutes means that even those looking for illicit pleasures don’t come around. On a typical evening night, Break Street is as empty as the moon. It would be easy to understand why a large corporation might buy up the land: perhaps for a tax dodge, perhaps as a result of some powerful foresight that imagines the day when this corner of Seattle will be bustling with hip boutiques and small, overpriced restaurants. But why would an independently wealthy businessman – a tile-and-flooring wholesaler who, in this city of high-tech magnates is known as a “minor millionaire” – spend his entire life’s savings to purchase a three-block-square area in the worst part of the worst street in town?
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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