Thumb-Typed, Shortened Somethings

That cinnamon roll was pretty sweet, so how could he complain?

The coffee was well and warming – what more could anyone ask of a cup of that?

The Wifi was free! There were no bad feelings about being removed from the world at large.

There was a roof, and more than enough walls to hold it all up.

(It was getting hard to be a Rightly Grump.)

There were people elsewhere feeling thanks – a lesson he could not in clean conscience dismiss. So instead, he took care to take some note.

What was left to want, in that well-supplied space; in that most privileged place; in that moment which was lacking anything whatsoever to lack?

Well, nothing – that’s what he curmudgeonly concluded, having come seeking something to silently simmer for.

He was full and safe, surrounded and settled, warm and well-tended.

Far, far more than most.

It was worrisome, what he had – for it could always be lost, or might never have been found. And there was not enough of any of it, it seemed, to go evenly around.

The tragedy of the tragedies that might well have once been, or might well one day still be.

Rendering moot all those Good Things which he could even then still clearly see.

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