what can’t we do, where can’t we go with a half a tank of gas? in one of his rare good moods and he’s so charming, cracking jokes until i sing one line too many and he tells me to shut up for christ’s sake, he’s driving. then he remembers, he’s got the numbers, the good ones. numbers can be good or bad. me, i only have bad numbers, but i don’t mind. it’s not my fault he says, it’s just the way i’m made. as a kindness he always asks me for them anyway and when i give them up they sit between us like old teabags in a drain. he plays them regardless, what a prince. someone has given him good numbers and so he’s happy, when he takes the ticket to the counter they give him the money in twenties, there must be at least two hundred dollars there. don’t spend it all in one place says the man and he waggles his eyebrows roguishly in reply. oh happy day, our ship has come in, he’s happy and so i am too. some people feel like this all the time, i think, and oh how i want to be like them.