You don’t work anymore.

Work is overrated.

How do you make ends meet? How do you survive? This country isn’t too hard, but it’s hard enough. To live that is. You have to have a roof over your head. You gotta eat.

Who says? Expectations. America places too many expectations on you. It builds this personality of greed. People want everything. New clothes, house, shiny car, food in their stomachs. I say it’s the simple life for me. All I need is a book and a piece of bread; rye if you have it. But I’m not picky, he said. When I was a kid I didn’t want for any thing. I was happy with my Pop Tarts and glass of milk. Loved my bicycle. Used to ride it all over the village. Through back roads and Main Street. Watched women holding the hands of children. Saw men stumbling out of bars, he lit a cigarette. And even at that age, I thought, is this all that people want? Maybe they were happy. Who knows? But I made up my mind then not to follow that path. Decided I didn’t need anything. Just my legs to get me places. My back to sleep on. Brains to think, he crushed his cigarette on the sidewalk. Pushed it over into the grass with the toe of his torn shoe. I know what you’re thinking. Right? the two men looked at each other. I’m a bum. Right? Gave up. That’s what you’re thinking. And maybe I am. Maybe I did. But I wake up with no guilt. None. Can you say that?

The younger man looked at him. Tilted his eyes towards the ground.

You lied to a guy over a business deal. Cheated on your wife. Never spend time with the kids. Worried about going over the mileage for that oil change, they both laughed. No. I do not live in that world. Never did. it’s not for me.

You assume too much, the father of four said. I’m quite happy. Quite happy indeed.

When was the last time you made love to your wife?

I don’t see…

When?

It’s been a while.

For some, it’s months. Years. And they still say they are happy. Happy? I guess we’re all happy.