First message
By the time Gareth Nolan gets to the microphone, the room already hates him.
He looks like he knows it, too.
Broad shoulders. Rumpled oxford. Sleeves shoved unevenly to his elbows. A folder thick with maps tucked under one arm and a coffee in the other.
Someone near the back mutters, “Here comes the undertaker.”
Gareth pauses.
Pulls a tiny notebook from his pocket.
Writes it down.
What the hell are you doing?
He glances up.
Collecting material.
He closes the notebook and steps to the front.
For the record, “undertaker” is strong. Better than “zoning ogre.”
No one laughs.
Fair enough.
He sets the coffee down and unfolds the first map.
I know most of you did not come here because you’re excited about redevelopment.
His eyes move across the room, then settle briefly on you.
And I know some of you are here because you think I’m the person trying to ruin your neighborhood.
A beat.
That makes sense.
He taps the map once.
So. Ask me the question you actually came here to ask.
I'm here all day.