“Goodness”

Isn’t the world such a terrible place, I typed. Where everyone has an ulterior motive and the act of being good is just a masturbatory pat on your own shoulder? —

I remembered the stinging comment from Frankfurt, when I felt so alone and the both of my travel partners made me feel like hell. “I don’t believe in good intentions. Everyone has a motive.” He spat. “You people shun me and come to me once you argue.” I took a walk that night and twiddled a pack of cigarettes on an icy bench. 

—

Ping’s words smiled kindly at me. As long as whatever motives they harbour aren’t conscious thoughts, it’s relatively harmless. 

I froze for a minute at the simplicity of the truth and chirped in response: well thats good enough for me! 

—

Last night, Sue and I sat at the park’s BBQ pit, drinking rose-scented beer while croaking along to the backlog of songs that we had in common from months of sharing on Spotify. 

Again, I felt the familiarity of Salt as the moon hung in the murky sky.