“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” HE asked from behind his newspaper.
She thought, I have never been all right a day in my life. None of us have. We see too much — think too much — don’t act enough — enchained by our own ignorance — body only lasts 70 years — most of it medicated — back hurts — feet hurt — can’t go a day without water, week without food or year without sex — world run by idiots and asshats and nobody gives a damn once the cameras are turned off — too stupid to solve the problems we keep generating — chattering “Do your best. Do your best. It’ll all be okay” — bad teaching for a situation nobody knows how to prepare for — age and loneliness and the soul’s slow dying in its own insta-dry filth. And you with your face in that ghawdam newspaper.
“I’m fine,” she said, and picked up her book.