A New Ending to Happiness

So... since the ending to Happiness was not satisfying I have come up with a new ending.
The world is coming around and people are returning to their normal unhappy selves and Edwin in turn has gone back to editing (quiting his heroic preoccupations). He and May had patched things up but they did not return to the lover status and as for Jennie, she had become greatly disturbed after reading How to Be Miserable and was admitted into a Mental Hospital. Although Edwin had patched things up with May he did not however have the luck with Mr. Mead who had fired him soon after they had returned to Panderic (apparently he hadn't forgotten about the safe or his dented Andy Warhol fake). Edwin was also arrested for assault after he "attacked" Mr. Mead with scissors and charged for damages (the loss of hair) which he could not pay. In the end Edwin shared a cell with Mr. Ethics and began writing his second book titled How to Kill a Self Help Writer.

Happiness

I am thoroughly enjoying Happiness by Will Ferguson not only for his sarcastic and real characters but also the way that he leaves details up to interpretation. Not only does he leave the setting up to some interpretation he also leaves time up to a certain amount of interpretation. As Ferguson was describing the collapse of the Western Civilization through Tupak's time seems to fast forward in a way but at other times a week may seem like forever. I suppose this can be seen in other books as well but it seems more relevant in Happiness.
Another quality of this book that I have found kind of freaky is that it truly makes you look at happiness and want to be sad and moody. At some points I'm not sure whether I want to laugh or cry and my feelings towards the "blissfully" happy strangers are not what I would call my normal response to smiles. I guess that is what makes Happiness good literature to me, because not only is it enjoyable but it also makes me think about what it all means. It also twists and pulls my mind into thinking a different way, and that's what great literature is supposed to do right?