Today. Thanks a lot, fellas. Thanks ever so much.

Nine out of ten people who work downtown couldn't name this building, tell you where it is or what purpose it serves. (It's an old-folks' home.) This unmemorable piece of casual crap is a perfect testament to every urban trend since WW2: lazy modernism, disdain for the street, contextual ahistoricism, and the wrong use of the right site.

By the time this dullard was built, Hennepin was no longer the entertainment strip it had been, and the avenue's office district had shriveled to a few survivors to the west. So the architects decided that a good use for Hennepin would be this: warehouses for aged citizens who remembered when the street had life.

The windows are all sealed shut, so the residents can't lean out and remind us what we're missing.