The meaning of life is . . .

This morning I was sitting on the T (as a side note, it has been beautiful in Boston this week, and I want to recognize it for the hen’s teeth that it is) and I saw a man struggle on, obviously on his way to the airport. He already had the look that the T gives you sometimes when you’ve got some luggage and it’s a little humid, a bit strained and uncomfortable, the already-been-in-the-airport-3-hours -and-the-escalator-stopped-working look. I glanced at his shirt, which had some “Life is good” looking art on it, and glanced again when I realized he was actually wearing something much more appropriate. What was he wearing? A knockoff: “Life is crap.”