As colleges proceed to charge more and more, real-estate developers in the neighborhoods around them look to cash in.

It’s a Thursday evening at Tino’s Delicatessen on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx borough of New York City, almost closing time. As the workers behind the counter wrap up trays of baked ziti, a group of older men in blazers sip wine and laugh among themselves, and at another table two students from nearby Fordham University chat over sandwiches. Walking into the store, with its photograph-covered walls, kitschy décor, and the smell of toasting paninis wafting from the kitchen, reminds me of visiting my grandmother’s house—never mind that my grandmother wasn’t Italian.

I order the Gianluca—two chicken cutlets topped with garlic sauce, smoked gouda, and roasted peppers between slices of crisp ciabatta—and take a seat. I watch as the man behind the counter fills my order. Here, food is not simply made, but crafted: The meat and cheese are sliced fresh, and no panini gets handed over without spending at least five minutes toasting in the press. I take my sandwich, now swaddled in aluminum foil and radiating warmth, pay at the register, and walk out into the night. Further down Arthur, similar scenes are being enacted in the other family-run businesses that line the street and make up the neighborhood of Belmont, the Little Italy of the Bronx.

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A typical Friday night in Belmont. In a townhouse on Hoffman Street, someone is throwing a party, and the steady thump of dance music pulses through walls and windows and spills onto the street. In a third floor living room on Hughes Avenue, four students pass around a bong and paw through a bowl of Tostitos while watching It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. At the corner of Arthur and 189th, the balding, 300-pound local celebrity “Suits” collects five-dollar bills from people walking into the sweaty confines of Mugz’s, the popular student bar he runs. At the laundromat, a mother keeps an eye on her three children as the dryer spins through the last minute of its cycle. Further down Arthur, Tino’s, Vincent’s, and the other Italian food stores have long since closed, their lights off, the soppressata hanging still above the counters. Students have a complex relationship with Belmont, one that is deepening with their growing numbers in the neighborhood. On the one hand, they bring new business to the neighborhood’s stores, but on the other, their increased spending power has set off changes in the area.

Gutierrez’s experiences since moving into her apartment highlight the changes. Her apartment offers more space and comfort than her previous Fordham dorm, and she has been a loyal customer at Belmont’s stores and restaurants. “I can go like three times a day” to the Arthur Avenue Retail Market, she says, where vendors sell everything from fresh produce to hand-rolled cigars. Over a glass of red wine at her kitchen table, she emphasizes her appreciation of the neighborhood—things like trips to La Cantina for wine tastings on the weekend, or shopping for fresh vegetables on Arthur Avenue. She’s built relationships with various store owners. “They’ll recognize me when I come in,” she says.

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The reason behind the population shift is clear. Students, backed by their parents, have much more spending power than the average Belmont resident. Data from the US Census Bureau places the median family income for Bronx Community Districts 3 and 6—which include Belmont—at $24,259. According to data from the university’s Office of Financial Aid, the median family income for Fordham’s class of 2018 is nearly $150,000 per year—over six times the median income in Belmont, and nearly three times the 2013 nationwide median income of $52,250. In addition, over 41 percent of the residents in the two community districts fall below the poverty line. All this makes students a very lucrative demographic, and landlords have taken notice.

Until selling it to another company last year, KPP Management owned the building I used to live in at 2475 Hughes Avenue, two blocks away from Artù Viale. In the spring of 2013, they renovated a few units in the building, which had previously housed non-student residents. When my roommates and I moved off campus and into one of the remodeled units the following summer, the rental paperwork showed that KPP was charging us triple the previous rent. Since then, students have moved into several other apartments throughout the building, and it appears that more are on the way. Edward Riva, a managing partner at KPP, explains that by renovating old apartments and offering prospective tenants everything from free TVs to fully-furnished units, the company seeks a foothold in the student housing market.

“Our goal is to fill these buildings with students,” he says.