The 90s. I was born in 72 and was 18 by 1990. It was a glorious time. My magical fairy wish would be to 25 and be able to live in the 90s or the 70s as I chose. I would start in 1970. I’d bust my ass to get my CPA license and use the money to buy as much Bay Area property as I could. I’d set them up as not-for-profit rentals. I’d have strict rules set up to protect the property and the tenants. Rent would be based on the maintenance and repairs of the property and pay the management company that will be taking care of the properties. At the end of the year, a full audit would be conducted, and when the final report is completed, any excess would be returned to the tenants. No new residents would be accepted after 1985. All residents already living in a property could remain as long as they wanted to. But when they moved or passed, that property would be withdrawn from the rental pool. Whenever a property became fully vacant, it would be maintained until the early 90s and then sold off slowly enough to not glut the market. Once that was all set up I’d go back to 1994 and lead an insolent life style in one of the two properties that I had kept one in Oakland and one in San Francisco.