’Sup, fam? So, you’re a 22-to-34-year-old unmarried or recently married urban professional, and you need a sick pad to do your thang in. Peep the new luxury apartment building 247 Ball, named for its street address but also because, hey, that’s just how we roll: everyone around here is a badass 24/7 baller, except for the crust punks squatting in the derelict warehouse next door and the pesky methadone clinic inpatients across the street who suppress property values!

Prices range from $4,150 studios to $12,750 three-bedroom suites when you and your college buds want to live the adult dream together (rent bills are payable by Venmo and can be sent directly to your parents). Hella discounted units are also available to residents willing to directly face the superfund site, pending the verdict of Department of Health v. 247 Ball.

Our elegant 38-story building seamlessly blends into the neighborhood’s historic aesthetic, with three honorary bricks that come from the youth center we razed in order to build. (The rest of the bricks are sourced from Finland.) In between the Bank of America and Pfizer billboards, commissioned graffiti on the water tower lends an authentic “woke” feel, yo, and recycled barbed wire and reclaimed-steel fencing keep out undesirable visitors in a bespoke and environmentally friendly fashion.

The amenities are lit AF: 24-hour attended doorman, concierge, and paramilitary security team; a library to study in for the LSATs so you can help eradicate unjust zoning laws someday; a rooftop for you and your homies to get your ’cue-and-brew on, check out the dope city views, and track the movements of external non-residents to safely time your Uber pickup; and a state-of-the-art wellness center, when you just need to chillax and forget about the socioeconomic misery of the surrounding environment for which your habitation is partly responsible.

We host monthly “Margarita Mixers” in the residents’ lounge so you can hang with neighbors in a casual setting to grow your LinkedIn network of digital-content strategists and ask if they know Brian Fadden from Cornell, who you’re pretty sure was their year.

The subway is a convenient eight minutes away on our bulletproof-glass shuttle van, which also makes stops at the Whole Foods, yarn-supply shop, mid-century modern furniture maker, fromagerie, and the other yarn-supply place that spells it “shoppe,” while speeding past the boarded-up apartment buildings (reopening under our management in 2020!), abandoned psychiatric hospital, and “Muggers’ Alley.” (Don’t worry, the name is misleading: it’s more of a dead-end street.)

Five percent off your first year of rent if you are generically attractive and consent to be featured in our promotional campaign depicting groups of young people laughing while holding pints of beer in an upscale bar.

Apply today — units are going fast, especially since the 17th floor has been taken over by the crust punks, and they’re apparently studying for the LSATs.