When I say “density,” I picture a place like Little Italy.
It’s a mix of townhouses, walk-up flats, small shops, churches, markets and restaurants. I can walk and bike around or drive my car when I want. I envision bumping into friends, enjoying our new Waterfront Park, drinking craft beer and eating from a variety of restaurants with a smile on my face.
But when I say “density” to my mom, who lives in a country ranch house and rides horses, she pictures downtown towers filled with people, an outright oppression of her outdoor lifestyle.
And to my granny, “density” means the Huffman six-packs looming over her North Park bungalow. These are the hastily built eight-or-so-unit apartment complexes on single family lots throughout Mid-City. Granny’s still bitter.