Wary because they can't shake the fear that change may be a code word for routing poor people.
"Is Whole Foods really going to be for Englewood?" Jones mused. "That's the concern. I don't know. I don't know."
He was looking again toward the empty lot awaiting its bright Whole Foods future when a man in baggy black pants and a white T-shirt crossed the street toward him. The man, a stranger, spoke.
The church could use some paint, the man said. He pointed to the tired walls.
"I got eggshell for that," he said, waving a hand. "White for that."
Jones shook his head apologetically. Too late for paint.
"The city's going to take it," Jones said.
For a flicker, the man's shoulders slumped, then he reached into a pocket.
"Can I give you my card?" he asked.
He handed Jones an index card, on which he'd written in block letters, in blue ink, his name and the words "Paint Good."
Jones watched him walk off down 63rd Street.
"Jobs," said Jones. "That's what it's all about."
Even when you think you're talking about food.