The Happy Ones

She talks intolerance over sad songs on the radio and the effective way a minor chord can make even the most standard of broken-hearted requitals bite the bone just right under the skin of the averagely unhappy. Aside from that, her thoughts are mediocre and seem to cut each other in half. Hypocrisy is a talent we’re all equally blessed with, however, so rather than dwell on that anymore, I think to look out the window with my best “contemplating molecules” gaze and she walks away.

I’m not sure I like this new system of having the waitress come to your table, particularly when she refers to herself as a barista. Pomposity eclipses the moon and I forget that I made an effort to forget about it all.

An old episode of Boy Meets World creeps up into my head and I can’t help but wonder who these people are, the kind of sitcom reality that I imagine must exist somewhere but can never grab onto myself; the 40-year old couple of friends who’ve known each other since freshman year of college and now their kids play football together; the five guys around a poker table who do this every Wednesday night without fail; the couple of moms pushing strollers fat with children down a sidewalk full of smiling, smoking gossip.

Maybe they’re real people. I think I’ve seen them outside of commercial breaks and daytime dramas. Perhaps they’re the people who never left town, never went out looking for this adventure lifestyle. The happy ones.

Up Next: Positively Trying