the woman who helped me out of my car after my accident had a Jack Johnson tour t-shirt on and a pair of shades that she pulled off to meet my eyes, every time I lose faith I hum Good People and think back to her and her soothing, mother-like voice. I try not to think about the way her face began to fade the minute I stood before her. I try not to think about whether she remembers me, a solid year later whenever she passes the thrift store I was thinking about stopping in to. I try not to remember everything but her voice and Jack's as he sang me into a clear haze.