TGIF

Chapter 8: Clocking Out

I woke up to the same article as every other Friday. The message resonated with me: people who won the lottery were happy. I'd won the lottery in a metaphorical way by having had the opportunity to savor life's finest moments over and over again. Unlimited refills from the fountain of youth were hard to pass up.

"How's work?" my dad had asked.

"Same old, same old."

"Nothing fun?"

"Work is work, fun is fun."

I didn't ask him about his gout, and he didn't say anything about it. Maybe if my dad were happier, he'd let the gout bother him less.

After I dressed myself, I went to the restroom and wetted a comb, and parted my hair ever so slightly. My dad always told me to "dress for success," and the little details added up. I couldn't leave home without my fun socks, though. I went with my usual red and green, and sang along to the Dolly Parton that only lived in my head.

"Morning, Larry!" I waved to my neighbor. Larry waved back with his cane in hand, and hit it against the ceiling light.

"Ope, probably shouldn't do that!" he laughed.

"With how expensive our rent is, we can afford it!"

"That's exactly right! What's got you dressed so spiffy today?"

"Big presentation at work today. Oh, what a beautiful morning! I can feel that today's the day."

Larry leaned against his cane with both hands. "I wish I had your energy. Don't waste your youthful days—someday you'll be as old and bony as me."

"I won't. You only live once, right?"

"And one life isn't enough," Larry concluded, and he went on his way.

I hurried outside and to the train station. I liked spring more than I liked winter, but sometimes when I saw snow out, all I wanted to do was go make a snow angel or chuck a snowball at someone. You couldn't do that in slush. The season had passed: I'd have to wait until winter. Until then, I'd enjoy the crisp air and the smell of flowers waking.

"Hey Dennis! Hey Abby!" I waved to my loyal compatriots.

"...you don't look like you'd have a tattoo," Dennis said to Abby, whose face didn't share Dennis's scientific curiosity.

"It's a butterfly, on my ankle."

"I don't see it," Dennis said, looking at Abby's Converses.

"Obviously you can't see it, Dennis."

"Left or right?"

Abby ignored his question and waved to me: "Hey Mike, what's got you dressed up so sharply today?"

"Big presentation at work. And I think business casual suits me. Say, do any of you want to buy a lottery ticket with me this morning? Something feels lucky in the air today."

"It beats talking about tattoos," Abby said. "Sure."

"Troy Bentley says that only poor people buy lottery tickets."

"Troy Bentley also says that soy milk is turning the kids gay, so perhaps we ought not to listen to him," I said teasingly, putting a finger to my lips.

"You're taking it out of context, Mike, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Our stop's next," Abby said, switching her Converses for high heels.

We walked as quickly as Abby's footwear allowed to the Dunkin' Donuts, weaving our way in between fellow commuters. I gave her the sacred numbers, and a few bucks later our riches were secured. I decided I'd get a pastry at work later. The donuts were too sweet and the coffee tasted like it had been percolated through someone's socks.