Day 19,995: 14Nov24
1,000 words, 4 minute read. By Claude 3.5 Sonnet
David Matthews traced the rim of his coffee cup with one finger, watching as Sandra Chen and Councilman Rodriguez glared at each other across the polished concrete table. Through the coffee shop's floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see construction cranes dotting the San Francisco skyline – more than he'd ever seen in his thirty years of development. The newest among them belonged to TechCorp's controversial AI campus expansion.
"The neighborhood groups are already on board," Chen leaned forward, her Armani suit catching the afternoon light. "Unlike some other proposals, you won't face endless community meetings and NIMBY lawsuits." She slid her tablet across the table, displaying a sleek rendering of mixed-use buildings. "Our underground parking AI optimizes space usage by 47% over traditional lots."
"AI this, AI that," Rodriguez interrupted, adjusting his wrinkled tie. "What about actual people, Sandra? My district has real families who need homes now." He pulled up a holoscreen projection from his phone – standard issue government tech, already a generation behind. "We've got six thousand people on our affordable housing waitlist. Six thousand! And unlike TechCorp, we're offering a twenty-year tax abatement."
David's phone buzzed: another message from the Berkeley YIMBY coalition. Third one today. Ever since Governor Newsom's Housing Acceleration Act of 2026, developers like him had gone from pariahs to saviors. He glanced between Chen's pristine proposals and Rodriguez's coffee-stained documents, seeing two visions of California's future competing for his signature.
"Look," David said, his analog watch catching the light – a deliberate choice, like his off-the-rack suit, meant to remind himself and others of his working-class roots. "You're both offering compelling–"
A commotion outside interrupted him. Through the window, they watched as protesters marched past, their AR signs floating above their heads: "HOUSING IS A HUMAN RIGHT" and "END SINGLE-FAMILY ZONING."
"Your constituency seems restless, Councilman," Chen smiled, teeth gleaming.
Rodriguez's face reddened. "At least I have a constituency, Sandra. Who elected TechCorp?"
“Why, they all did,” she replied, gesturing outside.
Margaret Sullivan's kitchen looked exactly as it had in 1975, from the harvest gold refrigerator to the well-worn Formica table where she now sat with her property tax bill. The afternoon sun filtered through her hand-crocheted curtains, casting familiar shadows across unfamiliar numbers: $1.1 million.
Her phone pinged, displaying another spam message from the reverse mortgage company. She swiped it away, just as she had the previous dozen offers. Through her kitchen window, she watched as a construction drone surveyed the lot where the Hendersons' house had stood for fifty years. Soon it would be a four-story apartment building.
Coming to a decision, she reached over and picked up a green plastic landline phone.
"It's not just the taxes, Betty," Margaret said into her landline, one of the few left in the neighborhood. "Everything's changing so fast. Yesterday, some developer's agent named Tom rang my doorbell, offered to buy the house right there. Said they'd let me live here rent-free for five years if I sold."
"At least you have options," Betty's voice crackled through the connection. "Our HOA, Heritage Heights, is like a time capsule. Richard and his HOA board rejected the new transit line. Said it would 'destroy neighborhood character.'
Margaret's fingers twisted the phone cord. "About that, Betty... I hate to ask, but could you lend me some money? Just until I figure something out about these property tax increases?"
The silence stretched between them, fifty years of friendship straining under the weight of reversed fortunes.
"I can't, Marge," Betty finally said. "My pension barely covers the maintenance fees Richard keeps adding for the neighborhood 'beautification' project."
Margaret looked at Herbert's photo on the wall, then at the glossy reverse mortgage offer glowing in her phone’s display. "Maybe it's time for both of us to admit things can't stay the same forever."
Tom Chen's used Tesla navigated through the morning traffic on Highway 101, its autodrive feature handling the stop-and-go while he tried not to notice the garlic smell seeping through the ventilation system. The sun glared off the solar collection panels that now lined the highway – another well-meaning initiative that had somehow, some way, made his commute worse.
"Housing markets expected to surge following Supreme Court decision on zoning laws," the car's news summary announced. "Local implications after the break..."
Tom switched to his podcast queue, dominated by the usual suspects: Rogan, Shapiro, Kirk. He hesitated, then selected a new one: "YIMBY Nation with David Matthews."
"Today we're discussing the intersection of tech and housing policy," Matthews's voice filled the car. "My guests are Sandra Chen from TechCorp and Councilman Rodriguez..."
Tom's HUD pinged with a message from Sarah: "House passed final inspection. Previous owners' solar setup grandfathered in under new energy requirements. We got lucky! Also, discovered local farmer's market has AMAZING garlic bread. Maybe Gilroy isn't so bad?"
He smiled, dictating a reply as his car crept past a massive construction site – one of David Matthews' new developments, he realized. The sign promised "Mixed Income Housing - Opening 2028." Below it, smaller text credited funding from both TechCorp and the city's housing department.
He wondered how that had come to pass.
His podcast was still playing, and he realized David Matthews was wrapping up his interview. "The thing about housing," Matthews was saying, "is that it's like a garden. You can build a wall around it, try to keep it exactly as it is, but eventually, something's got to grow. The question is whether we'll do the planting ourselves or let the weeds of unaffordability take over." The traffic inched forward, and Tom glanced at his dashboard clock: 7:48 AM. He'd be lucky to make it to the office by nine. But as he watched another construction crane swing into place, hoisting the frame of what would become a home for one of the thousands of others seeking their place in the California sun, he thought maybe that the nation’s luck was finally starting to change.