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Elias had been hunting for six months. He’d seen it all: the modern "tall-skinnies" popping up like mushrooms, the bidding wars that went $50k over asking in cash, and the heartbreak of losing a home before he’d even finished his coffee.
They stepped inside. The floors creaked with the rhythm of 1940s oak. The kitchen was tiny, but the backyard had a massive hackberry tree and enough space for a small studio.
The morning humidity was already thick as Elias stood on the cracked sidewalk of East Nashville, staring at a small craftsman bungalow with a "Coming Soon" sign. In this market, "Coming Soon" was a polite way of saying "Prepare for Battle."