Counterintuitive

One of the vendors at the flea shakes my hand, his long, chiseled face serious with concern. "Good luck this week," he says, referring to my upcoming surgery.

I'm a little tired of talking about it, though, so I try to steer the conversation elsewhere, saying, "Thanks man, but what about what I heard about you getting over your Hep C thing."

"Yeah, six years ago they gave me this chemo that made me feel like shit, and it was useless" he says, "but this year, they give me this stuff that actually made me feel kinda better, and it worked!"