Short riff:

I used to work at a Men's Shed. There was a member who was 65. He'd just been made redundant and got divorced.

"How are you?" I asked once. I didn't know what else to say.

"How the fuck do you think I'm goin', young fella," he said.

I wish I could be as brutely honest. "Couldn't be better," I would've said, squashing down the existential angst.

I'm not sure why humans can be so insistent on feigning happiness. We ain't foolin' no one.