Jones answered, “At least not yet. Let’s start with something a little easier to digest, like mashed potatoes, no gravy and no butter, followed by...Jell-O.”“You’re killing me, Smalls!” I told her, referring to one of the better known lines from the movie, “Sandlot.”When the nurse left, apparently to get some food, Dr. Jones and I continued to talk about my medical prognosis, and kept telling me about how the citizens of her fair city were clamoring to meet me.She pointed over at a whole table of. Until we got to questions and answers.“How long do we have before you drive the rest of us out of the neighborhood,” an irate older woman demanded.“I beg your pardon? Who is driving you out of the neighborhood?” I asked.“You and your condominiums!” she answered. “Some of us can’t afford to buy a home. We’re barely hanging onto our rent. Where are we supposed to go when you’ve converted everything in the neighborhood to condos?”“We’re not actually intending to convert everything,” I said.“That’s. More

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