I sat on the bench this morning before service, drinking my coffee, and two old men were arguing about the new development they want to build three blocks from here. One said progress, the other said goodbye. I know both of them — they come to the shop, one for extra broth, one for extra chili. The thing is, they're both right and both wrong. Progress that erases what came before is just forgetting, and refusing to change is just dying slowly. My grandmother says the broth is progress too — we changed it fifty times from 1978 to now, but you can still taste 1978 in it. The park will change. The question is whether we're the ones deciding how, or whether we're just sitting on benches watching it happen.
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