It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: Because Change Was the Ocean and We Lived by Her Mercy, by Charlie Jane Anders, Part One

Episode Date: January 18, 2026

Margaret reads you a story about the far-post-apocalypse and the joy we find in one another.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. A decade ago, I was on the trail of one of the country's most elusive serial killers, but it wasn't until 2023 when he was finally caught. The answers were there, hidden in plain sight. So why did it take so long to catch him? I'm Josh Zeman, and this is Monster, hunting the Long Island serial killer,

the investigation into the most notorious killer in New York, since the son of Sam, available now. Listen for free on the IHeart Radio, app, Apple Podcasts, wherever you get your podcasts. A new year doesn't ask us to become someone new. It invites us back home to ourselves. I'm Mike Delarocha, a host of Sacred Lessons, a space for men to pause, reflect, and heal.

This year, we're talking honestly about mental health, relationships, and the patterns we're ready to release. If you're looking for clarity, connection, and healthier ways to show up in your life, Sacred Lessons is here for you. Listen to Sacred Lessons with Mike Delo Rocha, in the IHartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. You know, we always say New Year, New Me, but real change starts on the inside.

It starts with giving your mind and your spirit the same attention you give your goals. Hey, everybody, it's Michelle Williams, host of checking in on the Black Effect Podcast Network. And on my podcast, we talk mental health, healing, growth, and everything you need to step into your next season, whole and empowered. New Year, Real You. Listen to checking in with Michelle Williams from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I didn't really have an interest of being on air. I kind of was up there to just try and infiltrate the building. From the underground clubs that shaped global music to the pastors and creatives who built a cultural empire. The Atlanta Ears podcast uncovers the stories behind one of the most influential cities in the world. The thing I love about Atlanta, is that it's a city of hustlers, man.

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But Club, Berclub, Club, Buclub. Hello, you're welcome to Coolzone Media. a book club. The only book club where you don't have to do the reading, because I do it for you. I'm your host, Margaret Kiljoy. And this week, I have the first of another two-parter called Because Change Was the Ocean and We lived by her mercy, by the one, the only, Charlie Jane Anders. There's probably not someone else named Charlie Jane Anders. That's a very specific name. And also, she's amazing. And I'm really excited to be. reading a story by her to you all.

I'm really excited to read this story in particular to you. You'll probably figure it out as I read it, why I feel that way. This story was originally published in Drown Worlds, a 2016 short story anthology themed around the futures will inherit when the oceans rise, which, hooray. Anyway, it's edited by Jonathan Stehan. This story, it's a love letter to San Francisco, which is not the part I'm excited about.

I'm going to be honest about it. that. And in a lot of ways, it's also a story about falling in and out of love with the community and about aging and subculture. And that's why I'm interested in it. I have no opinions about that, no experience with that whatsoever. But I'm excited to hear what you all think. So let's get into it. Because change was the ocean and we lived by her mercy by Charlie Jane Anders. One. This was sacred. This was stolen. We stood naked on the shore of Bernal and watched the candles float across the bay, swept by a lazy current off to the north, in the direction of Protrero Island.

A dozen or so candles stayed afloat and a light after half a league, their tiny flames bobbing up and down, casting long yellow reflections on the dark water alongside the streaks of moonlight. At times I fancied the candlelight could filter down onto the streets and buildings, the old automobiles and houses full of children's toys, all the waterlogged treasures of long-gone people. We held hands, 20 or 30 of us,

and watched the little candle boats we'd made as they floated away. Yuconda was humming an old reconstructed song about the wild road, here beard full of flowers. We all just held our breath. I felt my bare skin go electric with the intensity of the moment. Like this could be the good time we'd all remember in the bad times to come.

This was sacred. This was stolen. And then someone, probably Miranda, farted. And then we were all laughing and the grown-up seriousness was gone. We were all busting up and falling over each other on the rocky ground in a nude heap, scraping our knees and giggling into each other. other's limbs. When we got our breath back and looked up, the candles were all gone. Two, I felt like I had always been wrongheaded. I couldn't deal with life in Fairbanks anymore.

I grew up at the same time as the town, watched it go from regular city to mega city as I hit my early 20s. I lived in an old decommissioned solar power station with five other kids, and we tried to make the loudest, most uncomforting music we could. with a beat as relentless and merciless as the tides. We wanted to shake our cinderblock walls and make people dance until their feet bled. But we sucked. We were bad at music, and not quite dumb enough to know it.

We all wore big hoods and spiky shoes and tried to make our own drums out of dry cloth and cracked wood, and we read our poetry on Friday nights. There were bookhouses, along with stink tanks, where you could drink up and listen to awful poetry about extinct animals. People came from all over because everybody heard

that Fairbanks was becoming the most civilized place on earth. And that's when I decided to leave town. I had this moment of looking around at my musician friends and my restaurant job and our cool little scene and feeling like

there had to be more to life than this. I hitched a ride down south and ended up in Olympia at a house where they were growing their own food and drugs and doing a way better job with the drugs than the food. We were all staring upwards at the first cloud anybody had seen in weeks,

trying to identify what it could mean. When you hardly ever saw them, clouds had to be omens. We were all complaining about our dumb families still watching that cloud warp and contort, and I found myself talking about how my parents only liked to listen to that boring boo pop music with the same three or four major chords

in that cruddy, AAA, B, B, B, C, D, E, C-D-E rhyme scheme, and how my mother insisted on saving every scrap of organic material we used and collecting every drop of rainwater. As fucking pathetic is what it is, they act like we're still living in the Great Decimation. They're just super traumatized, said this skinny gender freak named Juya,

who stood nearby holding the bong. It's hard to even imagine. I mean, we're the first generation that just takes it for granted we're going to survive. It's like a species. Our parents are grandkids. grandparents and their grandparents, they were all living like every day could be the day the planet finally got done with us. They didn't grow up having moisture condensers and mycoprotein rinses

and skin sis. Yeah, whatever, I said. But what Julia said stuck with me, because I'd never thought of my parents as traumatized. I'd always thought they were just tightly wound and judgy. Julia had two cones of dark, twisty hair on Zirhead and a red pajama zoot, and Zee was only a year or too older than me, but seemed a lot wiser. I want to find all the music we used to have, I said. You know, the weird, noisy shit that made people's clothes fall off and their hair light on fire. The rock and roll, that just listening to it turned girls into boys, the songs that took away the fear of God.

I've read about it, but I've never heard any of it. And I don't even know how to play it. Yeah, all the recordings and notations got lost in the dataclism, Julia said. They were in formats that nobody can read, or they got corrupted, where they were printed on discs made from petroleum. Those songs are gone forever. I think they're under the ocean, I said.

I think they're down there somewhere. Something about the way I said that helped Julia reach a decision. Hey, I'm heading back down to the San Francisco archipelago in the morning. I got room in my car if you want to come with. Julia's car was an older solar model that had to stop every couple of hours to recharge. and the self-driving module didn't work so great. My legs were resting in a pile of old head mods and biofilms,

plus those costumes that everybody used a few summers earlier that made your skin turn into snake skin that you could shed in one piece. So the upshot was we had a lot of time to talk and hold hands and look at the endless golden landscape stretching off to the east. Julia had these big bright eyes that laughed when the rest of Zir face was stone serious, and strong tentative hands to hold me in place as he tied me to the car seat with fronds of algae.

I had never felt as safe and dangerous as when I crossed the wasteland with Julia. We talked for hours about how the world needed new communities, new ways to breathe life back into the ocean, new ways to be people. By the time we got to Bernal Island and the wrong-headed community, I was in love with Julia,

deeper than I'd ever felt with anyone. before. Jiuya up and left Bernal a week and a half later because Z got bored again and I barely noticed that Z was gone. By then, I was in love with a hundred other people, and they were all in love with me. Bernal Island was only accessible from one direction, from the big island in the middle, and only at a couple times a day when they let the bridge down and turned off the moat. After a few days on Bernal, I stopped even noticing the other islands on our horizon, let alone paying attention to my friends on social media talking about all the fancy new restaurants Fairbanks was getting. I was constantly having these intense, heartfelt moments with people and the wrong-headed crew.

The ocean is our lover. You can hear it laughing at us. Yolconda was the sort of leader here. See, sometimes had a beard and sometimes a smooth, round face covered with perfect bright makeup. Your eyes were as gray as the sea and just as unpredictable. For decades, San Francisco and other places like it, had been abandoned, because the combination of seismic instability and a voracious dead ocean made them too scary and risky. But that city down there, under the waves, had been the place everybody came to from all over the world to find freedom. That legacy was ours now.

And those people had brought music from their native countries and their own cultures, and all those sounds had crashed together in those streets, night after night. Yolanda's own ancestors had come from China and Peru, and here great grandparents had played nine-string guitars, melodies, and rhythms that Yolanda barely recalled now. Listening to here, I almost fancied I could put my ear to the surface of the ocean and hear all the sounds from generations past, still reverberating. We sat all night, Yolanda, some of the others and myself, and I got to play on an old-school drum made of cowhide or something. I felt like I had always been wrong head. and I just never had the word for it before.

Julia sent me an email a month or two after Z left Bernal. The moment I met you, I knew you needed to be with the rest of those maniacs. I've never been able to resist delivering lost children to their rightful homes. It's almost the only thing I'm good at, other than the things you already know about. I never saw Zer again. But you'll see us again right after this ad break. A new year doesn't mean erasing who you were. It means honoring what you've survived and choosing how you want to grow.

It means giving ourselves permission to feel what we've been holding and knowing that it's okay to ask for help. I'm Mike Dolorotcha, host of Sacred Lessons. This podcast is a space for men to talk openly about mental health, grief, relationships, and the patterns we inherit, but don't have to repeat. Here, we slow down. We listen. we learn how vulnerability becomes strength and how healing happens in community,

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and start listening on the free IHeart Radio app today. A decade ago, I was on the trail of one of the country's most elusive serial killers, but it wasn't until 2023 when he was finally caught. The answers were there, hidden in plain sight. So why did it take so long to catch him? I'm Josh Zeman, and this is Monster, hunting the Long Island serial killer, the investigation into the most notorious killer in New York, since the son of Sam, available now.

Listen for free on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, everyone, it's Ed Helms. And I'm Cal Penn, and we are the hosts of Earsay, the Audible and I Heart Audiobook Club. This week on the podcast, I am talking to film and TV critic, radio and podcast host, and Harry Potter superfan Rihanna Dillon to discuss Audibles' full cast adaptation of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. What moments in this audiobook capture the feeling of the magical world best? for you or just stood out the most. I always loved reading about the Quidditch matches, and I think the audio really gets it

because it just plunges you right into the stands. You have the crowd sounds, like all around you. It is surround sound, especially if you're listening in headphones. Listen to Earsay, the Audible and IHeart Audio Book Club on the IHeart Radio app, or wherever you get your podcasts. The moments that shape us often begin with a simple question. What do I want my life to look like now? I'm Dr. Joy Harden-Bradford.

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Listen to Therapy for Black Girls on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. And we're back. Three, I'm so glad I found a group of people I would risk drowning in dead water for. Back in the 21st century, everybody had theories about how to make the ocean breathe again. Fill her with quicklime to neutralize the acid. Split the water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen and bond the hydrogen with the surplus carbon in the water to create a clean burning hydrocarbon fuel. Released genetically engineered fish with special gills.

Grow special algae that was designed to commit suicide after a while. Spray billions of nanotech balls into her. And a few other things. Now we had to clean up the after effects of all those failed solutions, while also helping the sea to let go of all that CO2 from before. The only way was the slow way. We pumped ocean water through our special enzyme store, and then through a series of filters,

until what came out the other end was clear and oxygen-rich. The waste we separated out and disposed of. Some of it became raw materials for shoe soles and roof tiles. Some of it, the pure organic residue, we used as fertilizer or food for our mycoprotein. I got used to stain up all night playing music with some of the other wrong-headed kids, sometimes on the drum and sometimes on an old stringed instrument that was made of stained wood and had a leering cat face under its fret. Sometimes I thought I could hear something in the way our halting beats and scratchy notes

bounced off the walls and the water beyond, like we were really conjuring a lost soundtrack. Sometimes it all just seemed like a waste. What did it mean to be a real, authentic person in an era when everything great from the past was 20 feet underwater? Would you embrace prefab newness, or try to copy the images you can see from the handful of docs we've scrounged from the dataclysm?

When we got tired of playing music, an hour before dawn, we would sit around arguing and inevitably you got to that moment where you were looking straight into someone else's eyes and arguing about the past and whether the past could ever be on land or the past was doomed to be deep underwater forever. I felt like I was just drunk all the time on that cheap-ass vodka that everybody chugged in Fairbanks or maybe on nitrous. My head was evaporating but my heart just got more and more solid. I woke up every day on my bunk or sometimes tangled up in someone else's arms and legs on the daybed and felt actually jazzed to get up and go clean the scrubbers or churn the

mycoprotein vats. Every time we put down the bridge to the big island and turned off our moat, I felt everything go sour inside me and my heart went funnel-shaped. People sometimes just wandered away from the wrong-headed community without much in the way of goodbye. That was how Julia had gone. But meanwhile, new people showed up and got the exact same welcome that everyone had given to me. I got freaked out thinking of my perfect home being overrun by new, selfish, bloud fuckers. Jokonda had to sit me down at the big table where C did all the official business and tell me to get over myself because change was the ocean and we lived on her mercy. Seriously, Pris, I ever see that look on your face, I'm going to throw you in the microvap myself.

Yolkonda stared at me until I started laughing and promised to get with the program. Then one day I was sitting at her big table Overlooking the Straits between us and the big island Staring at Sutro Tower And the taller buildings poking out of the water here and there And this obnoxious skinny bitch sat down next to me Chewing in my ear And talking about the impotence of impermanence

Or some similar Miranda, she introduced herself I just came up from Anheim-Diego Geez what a mess They actually think they could build nanomex and make it scalable. What a bunch of pootines! Stop chewing in my ear, I muttered.

But then I found myself following her around everywhere she went. Miranda was the one who convinced me to dive into the chasm of Fillmore Street in search of a souvenir from the old church of John Coltrane as a present for Yolanda. I strapped on some goggles and a big apparatus that fed me oxygen

while also helping me navigate a little bit, and then we went out in a dingy that looked old enough that someone had actually used it for fishing. Miranda gave me one of her crooked grins and studied a wrinkled old map. I think it's right around here, she laughed. Either that of the Korean barbecue restaurant

where the mayor got assassinated at one time, not super clear which is which. I gave her a murderous look and jumped into the water, letting myself fall into the street at the speed of water resistance. Those sunken buildings turned into doorways and windows facing me, but they stayed blurry as the best.

bilge flowed around them. I could barely find my feet, let alone identify a building on site. One of these places had been a restaurant, I was pretty sure. Ancient automobiles lurched back and forth, like maybe even their brakes had rusted away. I figured the Church of John Coltrane would have a spire like a saxophone, maybe. But all the buildings looked exactly the same. I stumbled down the street until I saw something that looked like a church, but it was a caved-in-old McDonald's restaurant. Then I tripped over something, a down pole or whatever, and my face mask cracked as I went down. The water was going down my throat, tasting like dirt, and my vision went all pale and wavy. I almost just went under, but then I thought I could see a light up there, way above the street,

and I kicked. I kicked and chopped and made myself float. I churned up there until I broke the surface. My arms were thrashing above the water, and I started to go back down, but Miranda had my neck. and one shoulder. She hauled me up and out of the water and threw me into the dingy. I was gasping and heaving up water, and she sat and laughed at me. You managed to scavenge something after all. She pointed to something I'd clutched at on my way up out of the water, a rusted, barbed old piece of a car. I'm sure Yolkanda will love it. Oh, I said. Fuck old San Francisco. It's gross and corroded, and there's nothing left of whatever used to be cool. But hey, I'm glad I found a group of people

I would risk drowning in dead water for. And do you know who would risk drowning for you? Who cares so much about you that they're willing to die for you? No, it's not religion. It's the products and services that support this podcast. That's who. And we're back.

Four, I chose to see that as a special status. Miranda had the kind of long-limbed snagletooth beauty that made you think she was born to make trouble. She loved a roughhouse and usually ended up with her elbow on the back of my neck as she pushed me into the dry dirt. She loved to invent cute and salty nicknames for me like dolly press or pre-ridiculous. She never got tired of reminding me that I might be a ninth-level gender freak, but I had all kinds of privilege because I grew up in Fairbanks and never had to wonder how we were going to eat. Miranda had this way of making me laugh even when the news got scary, when the government back in Fairbanks was trying to reestablish control over the whole west coast,

an extinction rose up like the shadows at the bottom of the sea. I would start to feel that scab inside my stomach, like the whole ugly, unforgiving world could come down on us and our tiny island sanctuary at any moment. Miranda would suddenly start making up a weird dance or inventing a motto for a team of superhuman mosquitoes, and then I would be laughing so hard that it was like I was squeezing the fear out of my insides.

Her hands were a mass of scar tissue, but they were as gentle as dried up blades of grass on my thighs. Miranda had five other lovers, but I was the only one she made fun of. I chose to see that as a special status. Five, what are you people even about? Falling in love with the community is always going to be more real

than any love for a single human could ever be. people will let you down, shatter your image of them, or try to melt down the wall between your self-image and theirs. People, one at a time, are too messy. Miranda was my hero, and the lover I'd pretty much dreamed of since both puberty. But I also saved pieces of my heart for a bunch of other wrong-headed people. I loved Yolconda's totally random inspirations and perversions, like all the art projects see started getting me to build out of scraps by the sunken city

after I brought back that car piece from Fillmore Street. Zell was this hyperactive kid with wild half-braids. I had this whole theory about digging up buried hard drives full of music files from the digital age so we could reconstruct the actual sounds of Marvin Gay and the Jenga priests. Weo used to sit with me and watch the sunset going down over the islands. We didn't talk a lot except that Weo would suddenly whisper some weird beautiful notion about what it would be like to live at sea,

one day when the sea was alive again. But it wasn't any individual, it was the whole group. We had gotten in a rhythm together, and we all believed the same stuff, the love of the ocean, and her resilience in the face of whatever we had done to her, and the power of silliness to make you believe in abundance again. Openness and a kind of generosity that is the opposite of monogamy. But then one day, I looked up, and some of the faces were different again. A few of my favorite people in the community

and bugged out without saying anything and one or two of the newcomers started seriously getting on my nerves. One person, Mage, just had a nasty temper going off at anyone who crossed tier path whenever Z was in one of those moods. And you could usually tell from the unruly condition of Mage's

bleached blonde hair and broke-toothed scowl. Mage became one of Miranda's lovers right off the bat, of course. I was just sitting on my hands and biting my tongue, reminding myself that I always hated change and I always got used to it after a little while. This would be fine.

Change was the ocean and she took care of us. Then we discovered the spoilage. We had been filtering the ocean water, removing toxic waste, filtering out excess gunk and putting some of the organic byproducts into our mycoprotein vats as a feedstock. But one day we opened the biggest vat and the stench was so powerful.

We all started to cry and wretch, and we kept crying, even after the puking stopped. Shit, that was half our food supply. It looked like our whole filtration system was off. There were remnants of bucky structures and the residue we've been feeding to our fungus, and the fungus was choking on them.

Even the fungus that wasn't spoiled would have minimal protein yield. And this all meant that our filtration system wasn't doing anything to help clean the ocean at all, because it was still letting the dead pieces of bucky crap through. Yolanda just stared at the mess and finally shook her head and told us to bury it under the big hillside.

And that's where we're going to leave it for this week. Hazel says about it. Hazel's the person who hopes we pick stories. Hazel says, quote, I first read this story maybe a year and a half ago, and the way that Charlie writes about finding your people and it just clicking is so real. Like it feels like you've always been this way

but didn't have words, and that's stuck with me ever since. And the flip side, waking up one day to find that the people you loved are gone and replaced by people you don't. The specific combination of annoyance, nostalgia, and trying to hold on to the community that you fell in love with is just so gripping.

And honestly, yeah, that's what gets at me about this story too. Like, I haven't quite been in exactly this wild subculture, but I've been in some wild subcultures where it just feels like, you know, this is it, this is my family, this is what I'm doing, this is everything, you know. And how that changes and how shocking it is. And I really like how it ties that into this change

of the world itself. Right? Because we're living in this world and it's so hard not to have this intense grief for what's happening to the climate and the microcosm of that happening in like a subculture

that's changing. Kind of almost helps me handle climate grief, right? Because I've survived waking up and finding out that the mycoprotein is changed. and, you know, the person I'm seeing was five other lovers takes on a six that I don't like and and all of that stuff. And I've survived that. I don't know that we're going to survive climate change, but it's still like on some gut level. It's reassuring. I don't know. I find it interesting.

I find it beautiful. But we're only halfway through the story because next week we'll finish it to hear how our wrong-headed commune deals with losing their food production. This has been the first part of because change was the ocean and we lived by her mercy by Charlie Jane Anders. Her latest book is called Lessons in Magic and Disaster. It's an adult novel about a young scholar who teaches her mother to be a witch. You can keep up with her work at her newsletter called Happy Dancing, which you can find at buttondown.com slash Charlie Jane. Charlie has won the Hugo, Nebula, Sturgeon, Lambda Literary, Crawford and Locus Awards.

She co-created Escapade, a transgender superhero. for Marvel Comics and wrote her into the long-running New Mutants comic. And she's currently the science fiction and fantasy book reviewer for the Washington Post. With Annalie Nuwance, she co-hosts the podcast, Our Opinions Are Correct. And I'm Margaret Kiljoy, and you can find me on cool people who did cool stuff where I talk about history every week. And you can also find me on Substack at Margaretkilljoid.com, where I talk in a newsletter every week. It's almost always free, except for the more personal posts. And I talk about the state of the world.

And I talk a lot about the things that this piece makes me think about grief and hope and how they relate. And so you can check that out for free. And you can find this show here. We also have our own feed too. So if you're like, oh, I only ever listen to the book club. Well, you can just go and look up the book club now because it has its own feet with its own art by Jonas Goonface. And yeah, you can get it wherever you find your podcasts under the Cool Zone Media Book Club. I'll see you next week for the thrilling conclusion.

And until then, may the ocean hold you in her infinite grace and love. And also, fuck ice. Love you. Bye. It could happen here as a production of Coolzone Media. For more podcasts from Coolzone Media, visit our website, coolzonemedia. Or check us out on the IHeard Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for it could happen here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources.

Thanks for listening. A decade ago, I was on the trail of one of the country's most elusive serial killers, but it wasn't until 2023 when he was finally caught. The answers were there, hidden in plain sight. So why did it take so long to catch him? I'm Josh Zeman, and this is Monster, hunting the Long Island serial killer, the investigation into the most notorious killer in New York,

since the son of Sam, available now. Listen for free on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever you get your podcasts. A new year doesn't ask us to become someone new. It invites us back home to ourselves. I'm Mike Delarocha, a host of Sacred Lessons, a space for men to pause, reflect, and heal. This year, we're talking honestly about mental health, relationships, and the patterns we're ready to release.

If you're looking for clarity, connection, and healthier ways to show up in your life, sacred lessons is here for you. Listen to Sacred Lessons with Mike Deloach on the IHartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your personal. podcast. You know, we always say New Year, new me, but real change starts on the inside. It starts with giving your mind and your spirit the same attention you give your goals. Hey, everybody, it's Michelle Williams, host of checking in on the Black Effect Podcast Network. And on my

podcast, we talk mental health, healing, growth, and everything you need to step into your next season, whole and empowered. New Year, Real You. Listen to Checking in with Michelle Williams from the Black Effect Podcast Network on the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I didn't really have an interest of being on air. I kind of was up there to just try and infiltrate the building. From the underground clubs that shaped global music to the pastors and creatives who built a cultural empire. The Atlanta Ears podcast uncovers the stories behind one of the most influential cities in the world. The thing I love about Atlanta is that it's a city of hustlers, man. Each episode explores a different chapter of Atlanta's Rise, featuring conversations with ludicrous, Will Packer, Pastor Jamal Bryant, DJ Drama, and more.

The full series is available to listen to now. Listen to Atlanta is on the I-Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an I-Heart podcast. Guaranteed human.