Luck is a myth invented by lucky people.
Someone else finds $100 and spots me $5, but I have to pay it back, which puts me further in the hurt later. They take the $5 and snatch a lottery ticket that wins them $10,000 and go to Burning Man in their Lexus. I weigh less.
What’s broken and scattered to the four winds can never be made whole again. The good thing is no one is looking for any of the pieces. No one knows anything is broken. The pieces aren’t invisible. They smoke cigarettes and drink coffee.
Being unlucky and broken is something people laugh about before they break apart, before no one helps them in a way that really matters.
No comments:
Post a Comment