On the corner of Connecticut Avenue and Albemarle Street in the neighborhood of Van Ness, there is a consistent traffic hazard. Flagship Carwash is a thriving local business, amassing a long line of customers waiting through the intersection and down Albemarle Street from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. almost every day. Drivers who do not know that they have ended up in a carwash line cause congestion, confusion, honking, and excessive noise. The blockage causes dangerous traffic issues and restricts access to the road by the public.

Along Brooklyn’s Q subway line sits a small wooden cottage with a chimney, wooden shingles, and surrounded by antique rocking chairs. This is not a set piece for “Country Living,” but an active subway station which serves the neighborhoods of Midwood and Flatbush. This unique stationhouse, the only one in NYC with wooden shingles, was nearly lost. Its survival owes to its history and a Supreme Court decision defining regulatory takings.

California Senate Bill 79 was signed into law by Governor Gavin Newsom on October 10, 2025. The law overrides local zoning restrictions to permit higher-density residential construction, up to nine stories, within a half mile of qualifying transit stops, and is scheduled to take effect on July 1, 2026. The bill is an example of California’s broader effort to address housing shortages and promote transit-oriented development.

For nearly twenty years, an abandoned office building and adjacent retail property sat at a heavily trafficked intersection in Northern Virginia. The buildings were owned by an absentee landlord who had moved to New York and failed to maintain the property. Over time, the structures fell into severe disrepair: windows were broken, birds nested inside leaving droppings throughout the building, walls were covered in spray paint, fixtures had been removed, and the property suffered from leaks, infestations, and other deterioration. Homeless individuals frequently occupied the space, further contributing to the unsafe and unsightly condition.

In my childhood house, there was a pathway that ran through the neighbor’s backyard, continued through our backyard, and ended in the communal alley at the end of our row of houses. Issues often arose over the communal uses of these pathways to bring items out to the alley, requiring that neighbors trek through each other’s backyards. These issues most often resulted from discontent over the lack of privacy in one’s own backyard when neighbors traipse through, especially during the summer months when people are more active outside.

Have you ever rented an apartment unit in college or in the city? If so, you might recall a time when you encountered a noisy neighbor. Quick-build luxury apartments often breed noise pollution because management companies will sacrifice high quality building material for cheap alternatives. The result is disruptive noise, frustrated tenants, and deceptive leasing agents looking to sell units quickly.

Have you ever felt like you were living at work? Now, you might be. Post-COVID-19, more people are working from home than ever before. Even after recent return-to-work orders, office buildings are still only seeing 63% occupancy. Office to residential building conversions have been proposed as the creative solution to repurpose unused buildings and revitalize abandoned downtown streets. In Montgomery County, Maryland, the county instituted a tax abatement called PILOT, or “payment in lieu of taxes,” under which office buildings converted into residential spaces are wholly exempt from real property tax for twenty years. However, many cities have land-use restrictions in place that may force developers to go through the time-consuming and costly process of requesting a variance, an exception to zoning regulations. So, are cities actually being revitalized through office to residential conversions when there are strict land-use restrictions in place?

Comcast is the largest internet provider and often the sole provider in many areas of the United States. Without competition, Comcast has postponed upgrading its internet infrastructure in these uncontested regions, leaving millions of Americans with DSL internet that is too slow for subscribers to engage meaningfully in an increasingly digital world. Along with slow internet speeds, the lack of competition has allowed Comcast to adopt predatory pricing practices, further marginalizing some of the most vulnerable communities. To address these issues, what if a city or state took ownership of Comcast’s physical infrastructure, such as cables and service equipment, and allowed other service providers to sell to their residents, fostering competition? The idea of government-run physical network infrastructure, with competitive services run atop it, is not unknown.

Colorado Springs is renowned for its majestic views of the Pikes Peak mountain, overlooking the entire Eastern plains of Colorado. When viewing a map of Colorado Springs, it is evident that the city has grown naturally in accordance with each property getting to have a stellar view of this crown jewel in the Rockies. What makes the map particularly unique is its vertical sprawl—from North to South—each neighborhood seems almost curated towards this particular peak. However, new developments (and developers) have arrived in “the Springs” to attempt to ameliorate the local ongoing housing crisis. This proposed development (dubbed “One Vela”) would place a 27-story skyscraper right in the heart of downtown, a record-breaking 11 stories taller than the current tallest building in the city. Many Springs locals claim this is against the centuries long ban on tall buildings in the city—but is this a fact or fiction?

In Randle v. City of Tulsa, three remaining survivors of the Tulsa Race Massacre filed suit against the City of Tulsa seeking an abatement of public nuisance caused by the City’s unreasonable, unwarranted, and unlawful acts and omissions stemming from events that transpired in 1921. In 1997, the Oklahoma Legislature passed the House Joint Resolution 1035, which created the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot Commission. The Commission was tasked with establishing a historical account of the racial violence that occurred in Tulsa’s Greenwood community from May 31 to June 1, 1921—events now known as the Tulsa Race Massacre. During this period, a white mob caused devastating destruction, killing an estimated 100 to 300 people, most of whom were African American, and destroying over 1,200 homes, schools, churches, and businesses. This violence continued and state and local authorities worsened the situation by arresting and detaining Black residents. Efforts by Greenwood residents to rebuild were actively obstructed by local officials who sought to prevent the reconstruction by amending the Tulsa building code to require costly fireproof materials. Thus, rebuilding became financially impossible for many.