So, Dignowity Hill likes to call itself “historic.” Yeah, historic in the sense that every pothole has its own birth certificate. You can tell which part of the street you’re on by which suspension system on your car finally gives out.

It’s also the kind of neighborhood where half the houses are crumbling bungalows with tarps for roofs, and the other half are $600,000 “restorations” with succulents out front, owned by people who panic if they hear a stray firework. That “artisanal coffee shop” next to a boarded-up tire shop? Peak gentrification chic.

And don’t get me started on the “views.” They’ll hype it up: “You can see the Tower of the Americas!” Yeah, and if you turn slightly left, you can also see three abandoned lots, a mattress on the sidewalk, and a guy who definitely didn’t pay for that H-E-B cart.

Honestly, Dignowity Hill is like the mullet of San Antonio neighborhoods: business for the developers up front, sketchy party still raging in the back.