Your cool-girl sunglasses are broken and there's nothing you or anyone can do to make life good again.
Mere moments ago, all was right in the world. You had the reins of your life grasped firmly in one hand and a half-warm beer clutched loosely in the other. Not thinking (but drinking), you sat back in your beach chair and heard a soft crunch: your designed shades snapping under your butt.
Now you sit in that chair of fate crying your eyes out, your tears reeking of alcohol. People walk by and state as your boyfriend sleeps on the sand next to you. Oh my, these people think as they pass, what did that callous boy do to that poor girl to make her cry so?
They have no idea how far beyond the scope of frail and petty human relationships your problems go. Your sunglasses are broken! No machine of man nor magic of elf can mend your fractured heart nor soothe your sundered soul.
The sun comes out from behind the clouds. You squint and cry.