
‘How are you?’
{
tired
anxious
unappreciated
terrorised by your to-do list
sick of doing all the hard work your obscenely overpaid boss then takes credit for
hungry but on the latest diet
dating the wrong man but it’s better than being lonely
not reading enough books, not going to enough live gigs
and look at the time, lunch break’s as good as over – in a hurry again
}
‘Fine.’ You force a smile. ‘Just fine. Yourself?’
A pause, a slow intake of breath and you wonder what kinds of truths she dismisses as unsayable before she, too, settles for the lie.