These days, people who still had spare money to buy a house were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. So after Schiller called a real estate agent, the agent immediately said he could take him to view the property right away.
Schiller arranged to meet at the house. He wanted to drive there himself and inspect the surrounding streets, see whether the roads were easy to navigate and whether traffic was bad.
But reality proved that downtown traffic could not possibly be anything but terrible, especially given how central this location was—only two minutes by car from the most congested roundabout. Schiller ended up stuck on a nearby street for twenty minutes.
When he finally arrived in front of the house, the agent had only just arrived as well, apparently having been stuck on another street for half an hour.
That made Schiller hesitate. The house was nice, but nobody could stand that kind of traffic every day.
The congestion caused by chaotic traffic rules had eased somewhat, but as Gothamites became wealthier, car ownership had risen too. Traffic management was decent, yet the roads were still jammed.
Gotham had once been unable to build a subway. Construction had started now, but Line 1 would take at least another year to finish. Until then, traffic would not improve.
Schiller sighed and decided not to get involved with downtown after all. Unless he could buy an entire street like Harley, commuting to work would be nothing but self-inflicted misery.
The agent was embarrassed by the situation too, but he still tried his best to introduce the property.
The house really was excellent. Its wooden features were all dark oak, contrasting with the pristine white walls to create a simple, bright look unlike the Victorian style, while still retaining a