This condo was a concrete fever fantasy — a box, but a nice box, humming with the distant thrum of possibility and espresso machines. Central air and hope sighed through its walls. Everything shone: the chrome faucets, the softly closing drawers, the promise of fresh beginnings. Out on the 12th-story balcony, the city looked like something you could conquer or overlook, depending on your mood. It wasn't exactly freedom — but close enough to fake it with flair.