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Spadina Literary Review  —  edition 3 page 08

fiction

Brad Superkool checks
his lottery ticket

by Darren Dijoni

Alarm clock didn't go off yet. I'm getting up anyway. Twenty-five million dollars! Probably jinx it if I think about it. Act normal. Get showered, shave, do everything normal like any other day. Everything depends on the cosmos anyway. Imagine what they'll say at work, how they’ll react. Claudette will sit up and take notice. I'll give everybody a share. Except for that weasel Dwayne, he gets zero, let him eat his heart out. What’s he gunna do, squeal to the boss because I’m not giving notice? I’ll make Claudette my vice-president, she could filter the charity calls, help make the tough choices: save the whales or save the giant turtles? What should I wear today? Pullover, sneakers, the preppy look. That's right, that looks just like me, a cool guy, someone who doesn't care about money except from the theoretical standpoint of how it helps the economy function, a casual but shrewd normal guy who casually invested two dollars to make twenty-five million, but it’s not a big deal to me, won't change me a bit. Twenty-five million! Yesterday's concerns will seem so petty, so laughable. Like when the bank machine grabbed my card and wouldn't give it back. All I wanted was a lousy twenty bucks. Those jerks at the bank, they'll beg for my account, they'll beg for the privilege of toiling in drudgery to calculate my astronomical interest. Now where did I put that ticket? Oh my god, where’s that ticket? I lost it! God almighty, I lost the ticket! Oh, whew, here it is. In my wallet where I put it last night. OK, relax. Just relax. It's hard to relax, there's so much evil in the world. What if I get hit by a truck? I don’t even have a will made out. Quick, make a will. Where is paper when you need it? Here's something, what’s this? Rent notice. I’ll use the back side. Write “Last Will and Testament”. Double underline it. OK. Mom and pop — they get a mansion in Florida. Claudette — five million. Her eyes will go teary when she thinks about me, about how she'll miss me. No, five million is too much. That’s going overboard. We haven't even had a first date yet. Two million, maybe. I'll decide later. Gotta get going, I’ll be late for work. I’m toast at that dump if I'm late one more time.

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