The Wellness Pyramid

Marcus stood in the fluorescent-lit breakroom, staring at the container of wilted spinach he'd brought from home. Three days past prime, just like everything else in his life lately.

"You look like shit," said Elena, sliding into the chair opposite him. They'd been friends since college, before she'd ascended the corporate pyramid at their firm, leaving him in middle-management purgatory. She still bought him coffee sometimes, which felt less like kindness and more like dropping coins in a beggar's cup.

"Ran out of vitamins," he muttered. It wasn't true—he had $200 worth of supplements in his kitchen cabinet, promised cures for everything from low energy to existential dread. But swallowing them felt like admitting defeat.

Elena's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, something unreadable flickering across her face before she slid it away. "My husband started seeing someone else. A nutritionist."

Marcus's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Tom?"

"Tom." She laughed, but her eyes stayed flat. "Apparently I don't prioritize wellness. He says I'm toxic. Literally toxic." She poked at Marcus's spinach. "That stuff will kill you faster than stress ever will."

"It's organic," Marcus said weakly.

"Everything's killing us, Marc. That's the joke." Elena's phone lit up again—her husband, probably, or work, or the wellness pyramid scheme she'd quietly sunk five thousand dollars into last fall. Marcus had seen the charge on her credit card statement when they'd shared a hotel room at a conference. He'd said nothing.

He pushed the spinach away. "Remember when we were twenty and thought the worst thing that could happen was ending up like our parents?"

"We were so optimistic back then." Elena stood up, smoothing her designer blazer. "I have a meeting. You should eat your vegetables. Tom says inflammation is the root of all evil."

Marcus watched her walk away, her heels clicking perfectly against the linoleum. He dumped the spinach in the trash and swallowed a handful of vitamins from his pocket, dry and bitter against his tongue.

The fluorescent lights hummed above him, indifferent as always. Somewhere, Tom was probably drinking a green juice and feeling morally superior. Somewhere, Elena was probably crying in a bathroom stall.

And Marcus was just hungry, in a world full of food.