The other day, I was bemoaning to an acquaintance how it was a day I wished I could've been born offensively wealthy, instead of devastatingly handsome. The acquaintance laughed and stated the tired cliche;
"Money can't buy you happiness."
I had to call bullshit and upped the ante with some who-shot-john. Coming from someone who despises money, this naturally came as a shock. My acquaintance asked me why I would say something like that. To which, I entreated them to a particular memory.
Years ago now, a Lee and I were leaving a concert hall along infamous eastern strip of Colfax. On the street, we saw a woman, professional in her bearing. She was talking to a man, a client, as it were. His name may have even been John, but I never got a chance to ask. They were haggling over rates of exchange for goods and services. The woman, professional in her bearing, introduced herself to the man as Happiness.
"So you see," I concluded with a demonic smirk. "It is indeed possible to buy happiness."