I wore my crisp button-down as I sprinted from the T to what I expected to be a sweltering Back Bay condo renter. June meant the start of the rental madness season. I unlocked the double doors, bracing for the usual complaints: no central air, tiny square footage, absurd broker fees.

Instead, the young couple walked in, gazed at the vaulted ceilings, and felt the cross-breeze off the Charles River. They didn’t even flinch at the $3,800 monthly rent.

“We’ll take it,” they smiled.

In my line of work, a signed lease in first week of June was better than winning the lottery.

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Peace be with you

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