Flash Fiction piece.
‘Play Lottery’ the sign said. Not ‘Play THE Lottery’. It wasn’t very clear either. Is it asking do I play the lottery? Is it telling my I must play the lottery? Or is this telling me that Texas hasn’t a real lottery at all?
“What are you doin? What are you starin at?” Jeff says, annoyance creeping into his voice.
“Nuthin” I say.
“Nuthin…..nuthin….it’s always nuthin with you.” Jeff says, mocking.
“Do we have money?” I ask.
“The lottery.” I say, turning to look at Jeff
“The lottery?? What? Are you nuts?” Jeff shakes his head, checking the fuel gauge.
“I’m not nuts.”
The neon sign stays in my mind as we drive. I didn’t really want to ‘play lottery’. I just wanted to buy a ticket, do something different, escape from the routine.
The wipers hypnotise as we drive towards my new home. Jeff says they’re rich. I hope he is not planning to ask them for money like last time. They looked at us like we were scum.
“Jeff.” I say.
“What’s wrong with the lottery?”
“It’s a mugs game, a tax on stupidity.” he says.
We must owe a fortune then.