“It’s fine,” I say. “It helps to pass the time.”
She rambles on, but there’s no desperate plea for help, no “accidental” physical contact or other signs she’s playing me.
Despite multiple and frequent claims to the contrary, most people’s lives—on any world—are monuments to mundanity. Surrounded by the wonders of an infinite universe, the grandest achievement of most sentient life is the petty triumph of office politics. The ins and outs of fashion. “It’s complicated” relationships. And most who aim for more are assholes who need smacking down. Lives are so short and people’s concerns are so predictable it’s depressing to get to know them.
But maybe she’s right. Maybe it all builds up inside until you need to talk. Manipulating others makes you cynical and a world of shadows lacks subst
