[ WP ] you are an employee in a happiness factory .

Everyone searches for what I hold in my hands. 
 
 Past the fences and the locks and vault doors and the armed guards is the answer to what you are searching for. What you seek passes me by on a conveyer at ludicrous speed. 
 
 I find it unsurprising that it's more than I can afford. Even the chipped or cracked ones are simply discarded or recycled rather than made available to someone like me. 
 
 Oh, it's not about money. Do n't get me wrong. 
 
 The rich can be unable to afford Happiness as well as the poor. 
 
 It's not about literal wealth but instead `` personal wealth''. 
 
 There's a man in the middle of nowhere living with deer that uses up a lot of our Happiness supply. 
 
 There's a janitor that spends his life cleaning up after others who gets a fresh supply every day. 
 
 It's all about personal fulfillment or something. 
 
 I just watch the bottles go by. 
 
 They're certainly nothing fancy. Simple glass jars with silver lids that hold a soft yellow essence. 
 
 Happiness. 
 
 If only they knew how this stuff was made. I mean, you should see the Rage factory or even worse the Greed one. That place is a disaster zone. 
 
 I'm not allowed to have the Happiness. I get Satisfaction instead. It's a little lesser but it's what I live for. 
 
 I get to see the Happiness go to a young boy who just received that delicate first kiss on the cheek. The blushing, the heart pumping, the face splitting grin. 
 
 Or a parent holding their newborn. Tears of Joy and the swelling Happiness. 
 
 A new graduate about to step out into the world, Nervousness and Happiness coursing through every fibre. 
 
 The recipient of a new lease on life, promising to do better and loving every minute of life. 
 
 I do n't do much but what I do matters. 
 
 I think if more people thought of it that way they'd be better off. Maybe they'd finally have enough for a little Happiness.
