I'm reading this clickbait article about how Kanye can't sell his Malibu beachfront home, and noticing that I had a bodywork client who lived like three doors down. Her place was also always in a weird state of uncomfortable disarray, and I could never quite tell if she was just moving in, or about to move out. It seemed like both.
I had so many jobs in and around these obscene luxury properties where people were just passing through, things perpetually unsettled. Add to that the AirBnB economy (officially outlawed in LA proper, but still quite active), and you have a tremendous amount of vacancy and transition.
When I traveled to Cuba years ago, I was struck by the ruins of building projects that had been abandoned halfway, and I filed it away under things that happen when your economy is under blockade and your primary trading partner ceases to exist.
But this shit is happening right here in the heart of empire. Los Angeles is a ghost town of speculative real estate. These are ruins, too, just of a different magnitude. It's spooky to think about what that town will look like after the next big earthquake or financial crisis chases away the rest of the transient millionaire class.