Al Quotion. A word that is not (№ 210870)

While the youthful dream of a perfect family torn larvae crawl away from the soul, I walk the streets and peer into shop Windows, seeing them so sought once. Here she is, this perfect family. Grins bleached to the reflectivity of the teeth, spreads a thick layer of happiness through the wet advertisement stands, winks at pretty faces of random passers-by. And my teeth are yellow, upper the decay has grown to the size of the latrine pit and smells exactly the same, the face swollen, gray, rough, health, limping on both legs and stumbles to life's turns. And again slips a crazy thought: here they are, the sellers of human happiness, traders my unfulfilled dreams.