I don't like greed, I don't like ignorance. I really don't like

Host: The sunset stretched across the sky like an old jazz record — warm, crackling, full of quiet imperfection. The ocean wind carried the smell of salt, seaweed, and memory. On the edge of a forgotten pier, two figures sat on a wooden bench that had seen better days — Jack and Jeeny, their shadows long, their faces half-lit by the dying light.

A few fishermen packed up their lines. A radio played somewhere down the beach — faint notes of an old David Crosby song, drifting like the tide.

It was one of those evenings when the world seemed to breathe slower, as if reluctant to let go.

Jack stared at the horizon, his jaw tight, his grey eyes thoughtful. Jeeny hugged her knees, her hair dancing in the breeze, her eyes reflecting both the sea and something deeper — an unshakable belief that the heart still mattered.

Jeeny: softly “David Crosby once said — ‘I don’t like greed, I don’t like ignorance. I really don’t like anger. But I love love.’”

Her voice carried over the wind like a whispered truth, delicate but certain. “I think he understood something simple we all forget — that love is the only rebellion left that doesn’t destroy.”

Jack: smirking faintly “You make it sound easy. But the world runs on greed, ignorance, and anger. That’s the holy trinity of survival these days.”

Jeeny: “And yet we survive in spite of it — not because of it.”

Host: The waves struck the pier with slow, rhythmic sighs, each one pulling back with a whisper of foam.

Jack: “You’re too idealistic, Jeeny. Love’s not a cure — it’s a temporary drug. It makes people blind, foolish, easy to break.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s not love. That’s attachment. Real love isn’t blind — it sees everything and still chooses compassion.”

Jack: with a dry laugh “You’ve been reading poetry again.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe I just haven’t given up on what’s human.”

Host: The wind picked up, rattling the loose planks beneath their feet. A distant gull cried, sharp and lonely. Jack rubbed his temples, as if the sound itself carried too much truth.

Jack: “You talk about love like it’s invincible. But greed? Ignorance? Anger? Those are built into our wiring. Look at history — wars, exploitation, hatred. Love’s the underdog in every chapter.”

Jeeny: “And yet it’s the only thing that’s ever ended a chapter.”

Jack: frowning “What do you mean?”

Jeeny: “Think about it. Every great change — civil rights, reconciliation, art, peace — began when someone loved enough to stand against what was cruel. It’s the only power that doesn’t replicate violence.”

Jack: “Love didn’t stop the wars.”

Jeeny: “No. But it healed what came after.”

Host: The sky darkened into a bruise of violet and orange. The first stars blinked awake, timid, as if testing whether the night was ready.

Jack leaned back, resting his hands on the splintered wood. His voice dropped lower, heavier.

Jack: “You ever think love’s just biology? A trick the brain plays to make us cooperate — chemicals, instincts, survival tactics dressed up in poetry?”

Jeeny: “If it were just chemicals, Jack, it wouldn’t hurt this much when it’s gone.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, the way the moon hangs before it fully rises — trembling between light and dark.

Jack looked at her then — really looked. The wind moved a strand of hair across her face, and she didn’t brush it away.

Jack: softly “You hate anger, huh? I can’t seem to get rid of it. It keeps me alive sometimes.”

Jeeny: “That’s the trick of it. Anger makes you feel strong — but it only burns what’s inside you. It doesn’t light the way forward.”

Jack: “Then what does?”

Jeeny: “Love.”

Jack: shaking his head “You always circle back to that word like it’s gravity.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Everything that rises — falls back to it eventually.”

Host: The tide crept higher, licking the edges of the pier with silver foam. The moonlight touched their faces, turning their features into shades of memory and light.

Jeeny: “Crosby wasn’t talking about love as romance. He meant the kind that forgives, the kind that feeds. The kind that shows up — even when no one deserves it.”

Jack: “You think that kind still exists?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Or everything else is just noise.”

Jack: pausing “You ever loved someone who didn’t love you back?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Yes. And I loved them anyway. Because love isn’t a transaction — it’s a presence. You don’t lose it when someone walks away; you only lose it when you stop giving it.”

Jack: bitterly “Sounds like heartbreak in slow motion.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s freedom.”

Host: The waves crashed harder now, the wind carrying salt onto their lips. Jack turned his face away from her, staring out into the vast black water where the world ended and began again.

Jack: “You ever think love’s naive? That it’s just something people cling to because they can’t face how selfish the world really is?”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. I think greed is what people cling to when they’re afraid to love.”

Jack: “Afraid?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because love asks you to give up control. Greed promises you safety. Anger gives you power. But love — love strips you naked.”

Host: Her words settled like the last chord of a song — resonant, haunting. The radio down the beach played softly now, almost drowned by the surf.

A faint voice — Crosby’s — singing about freedom, about sails and hearts and loss.

Jack: quietly “You really love love, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I do. Because it’s the only thing that doesn’t ask for anything in return.”

Jack: half-smiling, tired “Maybe I used to. Maybe before the world got louder.”

Jeeny: “The world’s always been loud, Jack. Love just whispers. You have to listen harder.”

Host: The bench creaked as Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He looked down at his hands — calloused, restless, still.

Jack: “You know what I think?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “I think I’ve spent most of my life chasing everything I don’t like — success, power, noise — because I didn’t believe love was enough.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: pausing, looking out at the sea “Now I think… it’s the only thing that was.”

Host: The wind softened. The moon stood tall now, a silver guardian over the trembling water. The radio song faded into silence, leaving only the rhythm of the waves.

Jeeny reached over, resting her hand lightly on Jack’s.

No words. No need. Just warmth in the cool night air.

Host: Around them, the world exhaled — fishermen gone, lights dimmed, the ocean breathing in slow, ancient rhythm.

There was no greed here. No ignorance. No anger.

Just two people sitting at the edge of everything, learning — again — how to love.

And for that moment, it was enough.

Because as David Crosby said — and as life itself seemed to echo — you can despise greed, you can reject ignorance, you can let go of anger…

But in the end, the only thing that saves you — the only thing that stays — is love.

Host: The moonlight rippled across the waves, and the night held them in its tender silence — like a song that had finally found its last, perfect note.