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That city of possibility is now much harder to find. St. Pete got hot, downtown turned into the cringey DTSP. Developers caught wind. Housing skyrocketed. Local government took few steps to protect the locals who upscaled St. Pete in the first place. I have heard the complaint again and again: the very creatives who raised up this community, nurturing homegrown culture, are displaced by people who can afford to live in 400 Central. We have given our city away, recklessly and on the cheap.

Which leads to the Trop. Earlier this June, as summer temperatures warmed up the same Gulf that juiced Milton to a strength that could tear the roof off Tropicana Field, St. Pete's City Council approved a $1.3 billion stadium for the Rays. The deal was financially suspect before Milton and Helene; after the hurricanes, call it downright irresponsible. Subsidizing the wealthy franchise owners, city and county will kick in $287.5 and $312.5 million respectively. St. Pete will also hand over 65-acres of prime downtown, at well below market value. Anyone with a lick of sense (check out No Home Run) recognizes the boondoggle.

So what about that torn roof? $600 million could go a long way fighting the kind of storm that shredded the Trop's Teflon-coated top. We have precedents. Two-thirds of the world's metropolitan areas skirt the coast, the Global Center on Adaptation reports, and smarter municipalities have taken steps. The internet tells me that the city of Behai, in coastal China, has sunk $491 million (roughly the public tab for a stadium) into "marine ecological protection and restoration," including capital improvements to reduce pollution and nurture mangrove habitats. Boston will spend between $1.7 and $3 billion on waterfront parks, "prioritizing nature-based solutions over hard infrastructure for coastal protection." These blueprints exist for St. Petersburg. Instead, we'll build a ballpark. Instead, at my state-job at the University of South Florida, lawmakers prohibit me from even using the term "climate change."

The images from Helene and Milton expose the depth of our folly. The offices of a local institution crushed by the crane from a ridiculous tower the city neither wants or needs. The tattered cloth roof. What are we doing? What’s happening to the city we love?