My spoiled and affluent friends.

I have materially well-off but unhappy friends. In depression.  Some of whom have taken to drowning their sorrows in alcohol. I also have impoverished  acquaintances. African  migrants. Living in Italy. And they seem happy. In the pursuit of new lives. They have fled. Through Libya. By perilous sea journeys. They live hand to mouth. As street vendors. But still, they find ways to savor life. With great dreams and aspirations. About the future.  I feel closer and more happy for them than for some of my spoiled and affluent friends in America. --Jim Broede