Right across the street from the First Hill building I live in, construction workers are busily transforming a vast cement pit into a high-rise condominium named Luma. Its website describes the completed structure as a “half haven, half hotspot” with a long list of unsurprising attributes. In deliberate contrast to “the grandeur of the surrounding historic homes,” for instance, Luma “makes a modern mark” with towering walls that appear to be “wrapped in sleek glass,” and it rests within walking distance of the Pike/Pine corridor, where “nights out sizzle.”
I don’t want to care about Luma, but its presence affects me in a rich variety of ways. It even gets into my dreams. Just about every morning, I’m smacked awake by the noises drifting up from the site, including loud engines and alert beepers that activate whenever the construction vehicles back up…
