There has been a change in attitude, though.

Host: The afternoon sun hung low over the construction site, spilling amber light over half-built walls and shimmering steel. The air was thick with dust, the clang of metal, and the distant whirr of a generator. Jack stood near the edge of the platform, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, watching a crane swing a beam across the skyline like a slow, deliberate pendulum.

Host: Jeeny arrived from the office trailer, a stack of papers in her arms, her hair escaping its bun in a few loose strands. She looked tired, but her eyes burned with that same quiet fire she always carried.

Jeeny: “You know, Daniel Petrie once said—‘There has been a change in attitude, though.’ He was talking about Hollywood, but I think it fits here too.”

Jack: He smirked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “A change in attitude? Around here, the only thing that changes is the shift schedule and the price of steel.”

Jeeny: Setting the papers down on a wooden crate, she looked out at the skyline. “No, Jack. People are starting to care. About the workers, the environment, the ethics of what we build. Don’t you feel it? The world’s not just about profit margins anymore.”

Host: The wind caught the edge of a blueprint, lifting it briefly before letting it fall again like a bird too tired to fly. Jack stepped on it absentmindedly, his boots leaving a faint imprint on the paper.

Jack: “You really think a few speeches and some hashtags mean the world’s changed? Come on, Jeeny. It’s just new packaging on the same old greed.”

Jeeny: “That’s not fair. Look around—more women on site, more safety measures, even sustainable materials. People are trying.”

Jack: “Trying doesn’t mean succeeding. Attitudes might have changed, but the system hasn’t. It just got better at pretending to care.”

Host: The sky deepened into orange, the air humming with the sound of drills winding down for the evening. Jack lit a cigarette, the flame bright against the dusk.

Jeeny: Crossing her arms. “You always say that—pretending, faking, lying. Maybe you just can’t accept that some things actually do evolve.”

Jack: “I’ve seen too many ‘evolutions’ that ended up in the same damn place. In the 70s, they said corporations would bring a better future. In the 90s, they said globalization would lift everyone. Now it’s sustainability and empathy. Different slogans, same results: power wins, people lose.”

Host: Jeeny looked at him with quiet disbelief, her eyes shimmering under the faint glow of the setting sun.

Jeeny: “So what, Jack? We just give up trying? Just keep saying it’s all a con? That’s a dangerous kind of comfort—to believe nothing changes.”

Jack: He exhaled smoke slowly. “I don’t find comfort in it. I just find it honest.”

Jeeny: “Honesty without hope isn’t wisdom, Jack. It’s just bitterness in disguise.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the scent of wet concrete and rain. Somewhere in the distance, a radio played an old soul song, the singer’s voice trembling with nostalgia.

Jack: “You talk like hope is enough to fix things. But attitude alone doesn’t stop corruption, or greed, or self-interest.”

Jeeny: “No—but it starts the change. Every revolution, every reform, every shift began with someone saying, ‘We can do better.’ Attitude is where everything begins.”

Jack: His voice softened slightly. “You sound like you’re quoting a motivational poster.”

Jeeny: Smiling faintly. “Maybe I am. But the people who build posters sometimes build worlds too.”

Host: There was a small pause, as if the world itself were listening. The sun sank behind the scaffolding, turning the steel beams into black silhouettes against the burning skyline.

Jack: “You know what I think? The attitude that’s really changed is the one about responsibility. Everyone wants to be the voice of conscience, but no one wants to carry the burden. They call it awareness, but it’s really avoidance.”

Jeeny: “Not everyone, Jack. There are people out there risking careers, even their lives, to speak up. Journalists, activists, workers who walk off unsafe jobs. You can’t dismiss all of it as performance.”

Host: Jack looked down at the ground, where footprints overlapped in the dust, like a history of movement without direction.

Jack: “Maybe. But for every one of them, there are a thousand who scroll past suffering and call it compassion.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even that—scrolling, watching, posting—it shows we care, even if imperfectly. Change starts clumsy. Every awakening looks naïve at first.”

Host: The light dimmed further, and the first stars began to flicker faintly above the city haze. A truck rumbled past, stirring a cloud of dust that glowed briefly before settling again.

Jack: “You’re too forgiving of people.”

Jeeny: “And you’re too afraid to believe in them.”

Host: Her words hung there, suspended like the dust itself. Jack’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of regret and recognition.

Jack: “I used to believe. When I started out here, I thought we were building something better. Then I watched decisions made over dinners, not drawings. Saw men lose fingers to deadlines. That changes your attitude too, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: Quietly. “Then maybe the real change is that we stopped letting people like that decide alone. That’s what Petrie meant, I think. A shift in who gets to define what matters.”

Jack: “You think the voice of conscience has gotten louder?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it’s gotten shared.”

Host: A gust of wind blew through the open structure, rattling loose sheets of plastic that fluttered like ghostly flags. The two stood in silence, framed by the skeletal outline of an unfinished building—a monument to human ambition, or maybe its apology.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the change isn’t in the world yet, but in the mirror. In the questions people are finally asking.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Attitude doesn’t rebuild a city overnight, but it changes how you hold the bricks.”

Host: She smiled then, small but genuine. Jack dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his boot. The smoke rose briefly, curling into the air like a reluctant ghost.

Jack: “You know, I almost miss the old days. At least back then, we didn’t pretend to care.”

Jeeny: Gently. “Maybe pretending is how caring begins.”

Host: The sunlight had fully faded now, replaced by the soft hum of electric lights flickering on across the site. The shadows of beams stretched long and thin, like veins of a sleeping giant.

Host: Jeeny gathered her papers and started back toward the trailer. Jack watched her go, his expression caught somewhere between doubt and wonder.

Host: The last echo of her footsteps mingled with the rhythmic drip of water from a broken pipe. The world around them, both fragile and resilient, seemed to whisper its own quiet agreement: yes—there has been a change in attitude, though.

Host: And under that unfinished roof, between steel and dust, something subtle shifted—like the first tilt of a compass finding its true north.