I found twenty bucks today while walking home after my run. This should have been a moment of celebration; it was my lucky day. But as I took a closer look and confirmed my hunch - yup, twenty bills, no mistake about it - I was filled with an inconsolable sadness.
You see, I don't believe much in luck. Or, I should clarify this, as I know I'm lucky to be twenty dollars richer; I guess what I mean is that I don't believe in luck after luck. Anytime something goes my way, I kind of feel like that's the end of it, at least for a little while - there are no hot streaks during COVID.
I walked home slowly with my fortune in hand, knowing that there was nothing coming around the bend, nothing left to brighten my day. In fact, since I almost exclusively run at dusk, there was officially no chance of the day becoming any brighter. I followed the lengthening lines home like a train stuck on its tracks, where I would predictably pass the time until sleep, and try to remember something worth writing.
