01/10/2015 11:39:42 ¶ ●

## Episode 75 - Through the Narrow Place

It’s not the destination, it’s the endless exhausting journey.

Welcome to Night Vale.

What an exciting day for amateur athletes, or just anyone who enjoys moving their body (for whatever reason someone would want to do that). Today is the annual marathon through the Narrow Place. This yearly marathon is a family-friendly charity race that takes people on a beautiful 26 mile or so course along the Crooked Path, down into The Deepening, and ultimately, through the Narrow Place.

Race organizers say that this will be the biggest marathon yet, with all the town forced to take part by the terrifying Harbingers of the Distant Prince, and that all participants will be devoured by the Narrow Place.

Race board president, Susan Wilman, added, “That sounds a lot more dramatic than it is. Sorry, you know how when you talk mostly with a small group of friends, you end up developing a shared way of speaking that can be misleading, or misunderstood when heard by outside ears. We just like to say that ‘the Narrow Place will devour them’ because what will happen is that the Narrow Place will consume them with an unfeeling hunger, and they will dissipate.”

Susan laughed, continuing, “Oh-ho-ho, there it is again! That sounds so frightening when I say it that way, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it sound frightening?”

She laughed.

Susan laughed.

She laughed.

Her mouth was black and featureless inside.

She laughed.

The marathon is this afternoon, and will be the end of us all. More on this soon, but first let’s get into some news.

The Desert Bluffs City Council and Desert Bluffs Mayor Dan Cardozo announced this week (via a golden press release hidden in one lucky Sulfur Crunch candy bar) that, due to an extreme deficit in municipal funding, they would have to shut down certain city services including trash pickup, road maintenance, and tree monitoring.

Starting this Monday, citizens will have to drive their own trash to the dump, roads will gradually start to deteriorate under the erosion of particulate desert wind, and the movements of trees will go entirely unwatched and unrecorded.

The City Council and Mayor Cardozo indicated that they had done everything in their power to prevent this shutdown – including requesting federal assistance, selling off city property, and making offerings of food and wine to the ancient sandstone idols out in the dunes – but that the catastrophic loss of employment and tax dollars (after StrexCorp shut down operations in town) were too much for even those measures to make up for.

StrexCorp Synernists, Inc., of course, was the former employer of every single person in Desert Bluffs, until the company’s rapid expansion plans into…nearby towns….led to their downfall and subsequent hostile takeover by beings who are definitely not angels. The not-at-all-angels closed down almost every Strex office, and laid off (or, as they put it, “liberated”) all former Strex employees, and at this point are mostly liquidating Strex resources in order to fund operas here in Night Vale.

Listeners, I feel for Desert Bluffs in their time of need. Mostly, I feel scorn and triumph. More on this never, as I don’t ever want to talk about Desert Bluffs again.

And now, a much more important story: Khoshekh, the cat floating exactly four feet off the ground in the men’s room here at the station.

We’ve received all sorts of calls and emails and distress signals and emergency flares and Morse code spelling out “HELP US! HELP US! WE HAVE BEEN HERE FOR WEEKS! GOD SAVE OUR SOULS!” – which I can only assume are all signs of the public’s insatiable desire to hear more cute kitty news. And what cute kitty news we have!

Khoshekh is reaching that time in a cat’s life when his skull is completely visible, and I have been taking adorable photo after adorable photo and putting them on Snapchat, with captions like “Who’s a good kitty?” and “Behold, my skull of terror!”

Whenever I get stressed at work, I just put on protective gear and inject myself with a number of preemptive antitoxins, and I go pet Khoshekh for a bit and listen to the low gurgling rumble of his purr.

His kittens are doing as well as their daddy, and some of them are getting nearly as big as Khoshekh was when I first found him. My favorite of the kittens is named Mixtape, and his anterior spines are coming in fast. He’s going to be a really big kitten when he’s fully grown – unmanageably huge. Oh, it’ll be adorable!

That’s about it for cat news. If there’s any more cat news, like Khoshekh doing something cute, or just looking cute in any way, we will immediately break into whatever ongoing news story it is that we are reporting, and let you know.

All right! Let’s do another round of my popular advice segment, “Hey There, Cecil!”

> “Hey there, Cecil. My husband and I have a bet, and we were wondering if you could settle it. I think that the sky is made of gas and distance, while he thinks that the sky is hastily-painted plywood about 30 feet above the ground, built to hide us from the terrible truth of what is actually above us. That’s unrelated to the bet, which is: which of us wears this summoning cloak better? Pictures attached. Signed, Insecure Summoners in Cactus Bloom.”

Hey there, Insecure! Ooh, wow! OK. I’d say it’s a dead tie. It’s almost impossible to look bad in a summoning cloak. But more importantly, instead of arguing about who looks better in a cloak, you should appreciate how you each interact with the cloak in your own unique way. Cherish each other. Celebrate your summoning cloak styles, and save your arguments for that difficult and unsettling matter about the sky.

> “Hey there, Cecil! My teenage son, like many children his age, can’t decide what kind of person he is. For instance, sometimes he is a kettle, and sometimes he is a bear, and sometimes he is a puddle of water. Many of these forms are difficult to drive to school, and I especially worry about his safety when he takes a form that can fly. 'No flying outside,’ I always tell him, but I worry that he doesn’t listen. What can I do to help my son through this difficult time? Signed, Worried Mom in Downtown.”

Hey there, Worried. You would think that we would all be able to easily understand a teenager’s struggle, most of us having been teenagers at one point. Well, except obviously those of us who age backwards. But, outside of the context of a young mind, the teenage experience does not have the same immediate, painful urgency that it does for those who are currently living through it. It sounds like your son is trying on new physical forms to see which ones work for him. Maybe he’s just searching for a physical form that other kids at school will think is cool. Whatever the issue, support him. Have sympathy for him, and most of all, keep him safe from others, and from himself. It’s his job to make bad decisions; it’s your job to make sure they’re not bad enough to cause real damage. Good luck!

Last letter:

> “Hey there, Cecil! I have made a terrible mistake, and it consumes me. My life was once a life, and now it is an uncorrectable error. The arrival wakes each day, and feeds. It gives, and it takes. And it takes, and it takes…I would cry, but I don’t think there’s enough of me left anymore to make tears. What do I do? What do I do? Signed, Terrified in Shambling Orphan.”

Hey there, Terrified! It’s important to be able to forgive yourself for mistakes – even real doozies. Just do your best to make things right and move on, I say. Although, your mistake sounds…well, it does sound terrifying. I hope to hear nothing more about it.

That’s all the time we have today for “Hey There, Cecil!” Keep your calls and letters and psychic pleas coming in.

Listeners, it looks like the marathon through the Narrow Place is almost ready to go. Everyone in town is gathering at the starting line, with the help of the Towering Harbingers of the Distant Prince, who are using their toothy beaks and meaningful glances from their stomach eyes to indicate where people should stand.

It’s looking to be a fun race, and everyone is weeping.

Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, playfully tried to hide, but the Harbingers beat him at his own game, and the fun continued when they dragged him screaming to the starting line.

Even the City Council is in on the festivities, their ghastly powers being no match for the placid, unyielding might of the Harbingers.

I’m here, too – don’t think old Cecil is exempt! Me and Carlos are right here in matching Lycra shorts. He’s wearing his running lab coat, and the Harbingers allowed me to bring the mobile broadcasting equipment so I could continue to do this radio show, even though everyone can hear me talking live, because I’m right here with them.

Oh! And there’s Mayor Dana Cardinal, inaugurating the race by nervously chewing on a fistful of dirt. It won’t be long now before we are all surging forward, panicked, the Harbingers looming behind us until we are all forced through the Narrow Place. What good exercise that will be!

But, while we wait, let’s have a message from our sponsors.

Today’s sponsor is that gut feeling that you did something wrong, but you can’t think of what it could be. What was it? You feel so guilty, but your guilt has no target. It circles, and circles, but cannot land. You think back through the day, trying to find the source of the gnawing guilt, but there is nothing. And you realize that there never was a specific cause. It’s just a part of you.

You are the guilt. You are the shame.

And this only makes you feel more guilty, more ashamed, that these emotions are somehow tied into your very being.

As Albert Einstein famously said after he died, “The call is coming from inside the house.”

That gut feeling that you did something wrong, but you can’t think about what it could be. Try it today. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

This has been a word from our sponsors.

Finally, I think we just have time for this week’s horoscopes before the race.

Virgo: You should check under your bed before you go to sleep. That way the thing hiding in your closet will think you haven’t realized where it is yet.

Libra: All eyes are on you. Gross! Give them back!

Scorpio: Mars is intersecting with Mercury, which means your head is weirdly big for your body, and no one wants to tell you because they don’t want you to have the grace of self awareness. Ugh! Scorpios.

Sagittarius: You worry too much about earthquakes and plane crashes. You’re going to die of heart disease or cancer, just like everybody else.

Capricorn: Stop throwing your money away on expensive cars and nice clothes. The owners of those cars and outfits do not appreciate the crumpled dollar bills you keep throwing on them! And anyway, if you want to throw something away, that’s what garbage cans are for.

Aquarius: You’ve been so stressed lately. Why not just sit outside tonight, relax, look up at the stars, and know basically nothing about the world you live in.

Pieces: Scorpions are not as dangerous as everyone thinks. Try to concentrate on that. It’ll help you feel a little calmer tomorrow.

Aries: I know this is a hard time for you, Aries, but remember: 'tis better to have loved and lost. It’s really great, just the best.

Taurus: Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Pick up the phone, break your mother’s tailbone. Take your coffee with creamer, break your mother’s femur. The wizard’s spell has gone terribly wrong, and you must not move at all until it is reversed.

Gemini: You will meet a tall, handsome stranger. He will introduce himself, you will come to know him well, and he will know you well. He will grow older. His skin will sag and thin. He will no longer be handsome. He will no longer be a stranger. He will no longer be most of the things he once was. He will be a close friend, an old friend, one you’ve known for years, and with whom you are settling down into that final stretch of life. But he will always be tall. So tall. Very, very tall.

Cancer: I’m not saying this is bad news, but the stars just say “Aaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!” I mean, maybe that’s a good sign, right? Right? It’s a very inexact science.

Leo: Today is your lucky day! Which is good news, because tonight is your unlucky night. But enjoy this lucky day until the sun goes down. Until the very second the sun goes down. And then…and then…

That has been this week’s horoscopes.

Oh! And…here we go!

Uh, there are the starting guns, pointing at all of us, ready to fire in case we decide not to run. Looks like the race has begun. Well, everyone, if we end up devoured by the Narrow Place, then at least we went out with one last fun family-friendly community event!

In any case, while we all get moving, let’s get the latest on the weather.

[“Black Eyes” by David Wirsig]

We went along the Crooked Path, down into the Deepening. And then we all, whether we wanted to or not, we went through the Narrow Place. We went through, and on to the other side.

There is no other side.

We went there. We sent messages in Morse code to the people we once had been, asking for help, but they could not help us. They were outside of the Narrow Place.

The Distant Prince was pleased. He gathered his Harbingers to him for the celebration. They cooed, and merged in and out with each other, taking startling forms.

We screamed.

They cooed.

We wore black coats and had never existed.

The Distant Prince wore a golden coat, and had always existed.

All darkness is just a thickness of birds. There is rustling in every shadow, every surface is alive!

We wore black coats and we went through it. We went through the Narrow Place.

So, it was another great marathon! I’m glad that our city government continues to encourage physical activity with fun events like this, and I’m proud of all of us for taking part. We will never be the same again.

But here’s a little secret for you: no one is ever the same thing again after anything. You are never the same twice, and much of your unhappiness comes from trying to pretend that you are. Accept that you are different each day, and do so joyfully, recognizing it for the gift it is. Work within the desires and goals of the person you are currently, until you aren’t that person anymore, and everything changes once again.

Stay tuned next for a different you, and a different you, and a different you again, each “you” denying their multiple nature.

And from the Narrow Place, where we wear black coats and have never existed, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: Drake would like to add you to his professional network on LinkedIn.

15/10/2015 2:30:50 ¶ ●

## Donor-Exclusive Episode Transcripts

After long and careful consideration, I have decided on a policy for transcribing donor-exclusive bonus episodes. I don’t want to post public transcripts of these episodes as a way for people to circumvent donating to Welcome to Night Vale. These donor exclusives should remain donor-exclusive. It’s not my place to make those episodes available to all, even in written form. I’d like to stay on the good side of the people who bring us Welcome to Night Vale (if I am on their good side, that is – they haven’t demanded I stop what I’m doing, so I hope that means that I’m at least not on their bad side).

However, since there is a question of accessibility, I will transcribe these episodes for those donors who want a written transcript. Such transcripts will be sent directly to those who request them.

More details on how this will work are posted at http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com/donor-episodes, and that link will remain on the sidebar at http://cecilspeaks.tumblr.com even after this particular post has vanished into the ether.

I know this stinks for those who simply cannot afford to donate $5/month, but this is the best middle ground I can find between keeping cecilspeaks on the up-and-up while still providing transcripts to those who need it. I’m open to other ideas if you have something that would work better without being unethical, but for now this is the plan I’m running with.

15/10/2015 11:40:15 ¶ ●

## Episode 76 - An Epilogue

In just a few days, the whole story will be known. This is what happens after.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The last couple weeks, as we all know, have been eventful ones. I’m not going to go over everything again – we all know what happened. We are well read, well informed people who have paid attention to the whole recent “KING CITY” affair. We know about the terrible ordeals that Diane Crayton and Jackie Fierro endured. We know how their troubles all ended up. And we know the truth about The Man in the Tan Jacket. We know all about him now, because of what Diane and Jackie found out. So I won’t go over all of that.

Instead, I’ll talk about the Barista District, which is experiencing a severe population spike, also as a result of that whole “KING CITY” thing. There are just so many helpful people wandering town, asking us if we want nonfat or 2%, and if they can get us a blueberry scone with that. You can’t open a hall closet or tunnel under your own lawn without a barista jumping out at you, asking if you want a tray for all of the coffee they’re going to give you.

So much coffee. Whether you want it or not.

“Here it comes! A crushing amount of coffee. Don’t run. You’ll never escape. Do you want a tray with that?”

More on this ongoing aftermath in a moment. But first, the news.

The government released a statement Friday, disavowing knowledge of any events which resulted from a recent gardening supplies sale that they may or may not have been involved with. A representative of the U.S. government, in association with the world government, the shadow government, the lizard people, and the watchers from beyond the stars, wrapped in a burlap cloak and speaking in a low croaking voice, said, “So, yeah, we recently sold surplus and used materials from a variety of secret government projects and experiments, all disguised as gardening supplies. And, yes, the resulting effects on human life and on the very nature of time were unfortunate, and yes, people died in ways that we did not previously think were even possible in this particular universe, but…basically, it comes down to this: America. Love it or leave it.”

When asked about any efforts that were being made to provide aid to those who were dislodged from the natural laws of the universe as the result of dangerous experimental materials sold in Night Vale under the guise of simple home goods and gardening wares, the representative only repeated, “America. Love it or leave it” – each iteration a little rounder, a little more abstracted, from human communication, until it was only a series of guttural sounds in the vague shape of what used to be words, as the representative retreated further and further into their burlap cloak until it collapsed, empty, upon the podium, smelling of compost and grain alcohol.

All in all, a pretty typical statement from the government, and hopefully this clears up that whole thing with the flamingos.

Due to the recent events we all have read about, the librarians have been more active than usual. Witnesses, who were paid to go witness by others who were afraid to get close enough to see, report that there is steam and sparks flying out of the Public Library’s many chimneys. Howling can be heard, both inside the building and from the mouths of the witnesses as, through the windows, they glimpse the terrible physical forms of the librarians.

There is even a few unconfirmed reports that, in the confusion of recent events, and the resulting damage done to the library building, one of the librarians may have escaped.

Of course, a disaster of that magnitude hasn’t happened since…oh, uh, I guess it would have been…last year? So, that doesn’t seem likely. Truly, it would be awful if it did, though. We lost so many people from so many different places the last time a librarian escaped.

One of the witnesses, James Patterson (oh – no relation to the famous local dairy farmer James Patterson) reported that perhaps the librarians have developed the power to mentally influence those around them, since the closer he got to the library, the more strongly he felt the urge to read books.

“Are there any good novels coming out soon?” he began foolishly asking, blind to the dangers that books present. “Oh, man, I could really use a new novel!” he babbled – the poor thing, not even understanding the ghastly words spewing from his mouth.

We have no idea if this event was an aberration or if librarians have truly developed the terrifying ability to make people want to actually read books. But all citizens would be well advised to stay clear of libraries, and any dangerous books they may see in bookstores everywhere quite soon. I mean, you should always avoid books and libraries, but now it might be worth taking extra precautionary measures, like scooping your eyes out with grapefruit spoons and triple-bolting your door.

And now, back to today’s epilogue.

The baristas are continuing to multiply. All over town, businesses that were recently useful, normal things (like gas stations, and antiques malls, and screaming sheds) are now suddenly coffee shops, full of identical baristas demonstrating their ability to illustrate, using steamed milk on coffee, the exact moment of your death.

This crisis makes me think of the Man in the Tan Jacket, who was with us in so many crises through our town’s recent history. What would he have done with this situation?

Perhaps, it would help to start at the beginning. The beginning is usually an awfully convenient place to start, right? But trying to find a beginning means grappling with the question of time.

Scientists have a game where they try to explain time to each other without laughing. No one has ever won.

The Man came to us first almost three years ago, a newcomer in a Tan Jacket. I remember him standing by the side of the road in the small puddle of light cast from a burning refrigerator.

And that is the thing – the remembering. When he was here, we did not remember him. We forgot him constantly, a Specter in a Tan Jacket. Now he is not here, and we remember him perfectly. Years of stories and experience come flooding back to us.

We remember him scampering over the walls of the Dog Park. We remember him showing us a map to a place very far from here, a place we did not understand at all. We remember him passing out pieces of paper – the content of which was a mystery, the physical properties of which were a nuisance.

But here, again, I cover a story we already know, because we all so recently experienced it.

Old Woman Josie released a statement to me, in person, as part of a conversation we were having privately – without her saying it was a statement. It was just a – a thing she said to me during a conversation. Anyway, here it is:

She said, “I always liked that Man in the Tan Jacket. Even when I was afraid of him and suspicious of him. Even when he showed up at my door in the middle of the night with that suitcase of his, the suitcase that constantly buzzed, knocking on my door and babbling about how he needed help desperately, how we had to help save his home…even then, as I was ignoring him in his hour of need, I liked him. Even when I forgot him completely, and had no idea he even existed, I liked him. You know, this fruit salad Carlos made is just delicious!”

And I agree with Josie’s statement. The fruit salad we were having at our lunch together was super good, and I wolfed it down, even though I’ve been trying to cut back on my meat consumption lately.

I got a little sidetracked there.

To get back to the point, we’re all likely going to be destroyed by an endless stream of baristas. Which is, of course, a direct result of the recent events involving Jackie and Diane.

So…there’s that.

Listeners, looks like we’re in need of a new intern. Intern Danielle has stopped coming to the office. I mean, Danielle had all these crazy conspiracy theories about how radio interns are “doomed,” so she wanted to stay inside and focus only on computer work. She steadfastly refused any field reporting assignments.

So I complied with her wishes, and let her run our social media accounts – which I thought would make her happy. But a few weeks ago, after giving her the simple and fun job of taking pictures of Khoshekh, our radio station’s live-in cat, for our official station MySpace as well as to my personal Google+ and Snapchat accounts, she just…stopped coming to work. I guess she just didn’t have it in her anymore.

But listen, if you’re more motivated to learn about a career in radio than Danielle, we’d love to have you come intern here at the station. All you need to do to become a community radio intern is not run away when station management surrounds you outside your home shouting, “This one is next! This one is next!”

And now, a word from our sponsors.

(Um, personally? I find the content of this ad…distasteful, given my earlier warning, but I’m informed by station management that I have to read it as written.)

Here goes.

Many of us like books. None of us like to admit it. We know that reading makes us deviants, perverts, freaks. Many of us might say – on the radio for instance – that books are dangerous and should be avoided. Even thinking the words “I like books” to ourselves makes us shudder with a secret shame.

We know that we should only be reading government pamphlets, and the prophecies on the back of cereal boxes…but again and again, we find ourselves returning to the dark sickness of literary language.

Who among us can say that they do not have, buried in a box of linens under their bed, a well-read copy of Brand New Ancients by Kate Tempest, or a collection of Annie Baker’s Vermont Plays?

Given all this, should we band together, deviant with deviant? A deviance so natural that it is no deviance at all, but an ingrained motion of the heart, a secret desire so common, that it is no more secret than the sun? Should we begin to admit, together, that we all sometimes like to touch and read books?

No! Of course not! We should be ashamed and hide our love of books from each other, heaping scorn and hypocritical anger upon anyone who dares to reveal that they have the same desires we do.

Harper Perennial. All of our literature is shipped to you in unmarked brown paper wrappings. Charges will appear on your credit card statement as DEFINITELY **NOT** BOOKS.

No one has to know you are a book reading freak.

This has been a message from our sponsors.

Ugh. Books.

The population of the Barista District continues to grow, doubling almost every hour, through no means known to modern science, antique science, or reverse science.

Carlos is working on a solution, but in the meantime, townspeople are overwhelmed and scared by the coffee options suddenly available to them. They are screaming. They are screaming and running away.

Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, told me that he can see them now, the baristas, and that they are beautiful and surging.

“There are so many hands holding so much coffee! They are all so helpful! This might be it,” Larry is saying.

“Anything could be it,” he is continuing.

“Any moment could be the last one. We should always be prepared for the eventuality of no more eventualities. We all live on the narrow precipice, but also yeah! This barista thing is really going off, huh?” he concluded.

Perhaps if the Man in the Tan Jacket were here, he would have some idea, some solution, or even would just be there to add a comforting forgettable presence to this ongoing disaster. But of course, he is not here, and we all know why. We all know who he really is now.

Oh. Oh! Carlos is texting me. He…oh. OK.

He says that he has a solution to this whole barista thing.

Oh, hey! That’s quite clever!

And it also takes care of that…other problem. You know, the one I don’t even have to explain to you right now, because it was so frightful and all-consuming and fresh in our memories?

OK. While Carlos does his clever plan, I’ll do a clever pan of my own – which is taking you to the weather.

[“Endless Dream” by God Is An Astronaut]

And now, here we are, in the after.

Carlos’ plan…well, we read about what it was and how it turned out. No need to summarize here.

What do we do after such huge events have transpired? After the ones in danger no longer are (meaning either that they no longer are in danger, or that – in an existential sense – they just…no longer are)?

Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to go bowling with Carlos. League Night is tonight, and we’ve gotten the team back together with Old Woman Josie. Of course, she can use her left hand again now, now that this affair we’ve been talking about is all over, so our scores should be up.

And…what else? The sky, of course, always that.

Let’s start there, and work our way down to Earth. Other cities, other places…this city. This place.

I imagine that soon, this town will settle back into the routine of its existence, until a new peril arises again soon. Like a heartbeat: a sudden, violent movement – and in between, a lull. In itself, a rhythm. A counterpart. A silence between the beats.

Night Vale in a lull: the doctors at the hospital going about their mysterious routines; the pawn shop (its name changed now, of course, after what happened recently); the Office District, and…oh? It looks like there is a large family of tarantulas heading there now, and they do not look happy. I would hate to be whoever it is that they’re looking for.

The Moonlite All-Nite Diner, where I’m sure Steve Carlsberg is going to stop by on his way home for a slice of invisible pie; our mayor, Dana, getting ready to finish her work; Carlos’ lab, where he is also finishing up his work (see you soon, Carlos!); and…and something else.

Over a housing tract, across town, I can see a dot in the sky, floating high above one of the houses, twirling and soaring higher. I can’t quite see what it is…but it’s lovely.

In any case, an entire town swinging back to the normal, getting on with life in the after. After all of the things that we all now know happened. All of us.

Except, of course, one person. A person missing. A person who we all missed. A person impossible to remember. A person now impossible to forget.

A Man in the Tan Jacket.

And what next?

Well, I think there may be other people, other stories to tell. We are, each of us, a vast story waiting for someone to tell it.

Stay tuned, in just a few days (or, depending on where you are in time, any day you decide to get around to it), for a four-hundred-and-one page factual report about the events that led to this epilogue – available in hardcover, eBook, or audio book from your favorite factual report retailer.

In the meantime, from after the whole of what you haven’t yet read, goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Today’s proverb: “Late capitalism” is such a sweetly optimistic phrase.