I think I just met the happiest person in the world. And I don’t trust it. No one is actually that happy deep down. How can they be? It just doesn’t make sense. Isn’t she paying attention? Doesn’t she read the news, or see the hungry, lining the streets, oozing economic loss and addiction? There is suffering in every crevice.

Every apartment, every cubicle.

I mean the planet is literally dying—coastal flooding, coral reefs teeming with colorful life are collapsing into bleach-white decay. None of us can afford our dreams without losing sleep and grinding our health along with our meat. And sometimes even then.

Anyone that happy is either delusional, or so self absorbed that they see no one else. Their walk on the sunshine blinds them of reality. Their bubble is so thin I worry what might happen the day it finally bursts. Pop.

So what is she hiding? What is her secret?

Oh I hate it.

And I don’t trust it for one bit.