Happier Times?

She smiles and I feel a bit happier, a bit less abused. But the Trump thing could become President again in November. My body fails me regularly. I pass out. I fall down. I have unexplained pains in every part of me, even my hair.

But I got an email from a literary agent. Maybe my writing will get an advocate.

And she smiles. She wears skin-tight bathing suits. And I feel a bit more… happy.

But for those who think an old coot like me shouldn’t get that kind of happiness anymore… well, she lives in Australia and I only know her through Instagram. And I have nothing left to menace her with even if I had the intention and opportunity.

I just look at what she posts. And it makes me smile… until the next wince of pain.