rich

I had some crisp twenties in my wallet from selling the bikes yesterday and they were burning a damned hole. I had to put them in the bank and fast-like. All but one of them. I needed to press my luck on some scratch tickets. I didn't want millions today, or even tens of thousands--no need for greed. Not yet anyways, there would be plenty of time for that later. No, I just wanted a couple hundred, an even K maybe. So, I dropped the twenty at my favorite neighborhood Phillips 66 on a various assortment of scratch games. I ended up winning thirty-four dollars, thus coming out fourteen on top. Sweet.

Lately I have been restlessly sleeping but that is just standard operating procedure. What is different in the last few nights, however, is that when I come out from the bedroom, sneaking slowly over the creaking boards (I've learned all of the spots' intricacies) as not to wake Leah, and come out here to the computer and, instead of reading Huffington Post or playing Scrabble, I have been mindlessly mousing through the vast offerings by eBay and other various mega-consumption sites. Everything from digital SLRs to US Navy diving knives (as if I have ever had any remote interest in these before) to bicycles (I know, I know, we are supposed to be downsizing those) to bulk packages of ink pens (anything to increase my writing output, was my justification there). I just wanted to win a couple hundred bucks, I guess, to just make some silly whim purchase like this, to just throw around because I could. Not that that means I should: how many jackets do I really need? How many pairs of shoes? How many hand-embroidered USSR KGB agent dress-uniform shoulder patches to put on my messenger bag to look hiply rebellious?

So, I just returned from what Leah and I have dubbed the Nicest 7-11 in the World. It has a stone storefront and sleek sheaf upon sheaf of bamboo stalkery enveloping you in these linearly modern cement partitions as you enter. I went in there with my thirty-four dollars in winnings (spread out over five tickets). I was going to spend the fourteen on more lottery tickets and pocket the original twenty and thus talk myself into the whole 'you've-got-nothing-to-lose' mindset. My turn comes to the register and I hold up the line as the Docker-clad clerk fiddles feeding my five winners into the machine.

"Do you just want the cash?" his mustache twitches.

No, I want more tickets, fourteen dollars worth.

A Porsche purrs up outside the window, the searing red paint job makes the bamboo really pop. A bald guy with a paunch and leather coat opens the door, glancing everywhere as if looking for someone. But no one else is around.

"Yeah. Just the cash," I say.

There are some beeps and rings then two tens, two fives, and four ones scoot across the counter towards me. I put it in my wallet and it is bulging. More so than it has in a while.