the small indian man
behind the counter
kisses your lotto ticket
as he punches it out on
the machine and says
you will win. I have
blessed your ticket.
I have a good feeling
about these numbers, mister.
you say something like,
yuck, and try not to touch
the spittle
he's left across your
numbers.
thanks, you tell him,
thanks a lot
and no, I don't want a spicy
bite today or a big gulp,
you take the ticket outside
holding it by a corner,
then set it on
a curb to let it dry
in the sun,
fortunately you have
some surgical gloves with
you that you put on
to pick it up once sufficiently
free of goo.
you take the ticket home
and wait
for the drawing.
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