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Flipper says good-bye to Jersey

Diary of a real estate flipper

I've spent five months in New Jersey chasing my tail. I'm acutely aware that I could have written a book or learned French or picked up some marketable computer skills. But I had this dream that I could flip middle-class housing, and it was a pretty powerful dream: cash for distressed sellers, better housing for middle-class buyers, a decent living for me. At the point where I'm ready to throw in the towel – starting down the path of getting my license in New York – there's one last swing I want to take: to speak at a sales meeting at my firm's South Orange office. The office manager is incredibly eager to have me. He says that the office I'm based in is too upper-middle class (read: too rich and too white) and that the agents in his office will have the kind of properties I'm looking for. My first hint that something is very, very wrong is when the manager doesn't return my call to reconfirm the date. I finally wheedle out of the receptionist that he's actually been fired...

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