Angry tears filled my eyes but, as I left Luke’s, I refused to blink and allow them to drip down my face. I didn't want anybody to see that I cared about the crummy waitress job so much that I was crying over it. Walking across the parking lot, I half-expected Luke, or maybe even Ted, to call out from behind me, to call out that they'd made a mistake, that I wasn't fired.

All I heard was the sound of my shoes against the cracked pavement. The sound of a bird in a tree somewhere far off in the soupy Nightsbridge air. The sound of cars passing on the street. Blurry cars I could only make out the colors of as I approached them.

I stood still on the sidewalk at the far edge of Luke’s parking lot, trying to figure out my next move. When you've just been fired from your job, what do you do? Do you go home? Do you go to a bar to get drunk?

I'd worked a ton of jobs, but I'd never been fired. This was unfamiliar territory for me.

I finally decided that a cooldown walk, an oxymoron in the swampy Nightsbridge heat, would be what was best for me.

That was when I finally blinked and allowed the tears to drip down my cheeks. I didn't bother wiping them off either. If my eye makeup ran, so be it. Let everyone see how upset I was. Let everyone see how much of a fuck up I was, how ruined my life was. I wanted them to stare at me, I wanted it to eat them alive from inside.

Even though I’d intended on walking around aimlessly, I still somehow ended up back in front of my father’s old theatre.

This time there was something different, though.

There was something new.

There was a Nightsbridge Realty sign on the building. A giant wooden placard nailed to the side of it, piercing its surface.

For Sale. Inquiries are encouraged to call Nightsbridge Realty at…

Great. The theatre was for sale. Why wouldn't it be? I’d just lost my job and the theatre, which hadn't been for sale in over two years, was now on the market again. I mentally checked my bank account, negative thirty-seven dollars, and sighed.

Wait.

I had more than that, though. I pulled out the thirty dollars Luke had thrown in my face and stared at the For-Sale sign.

Quick sharp images stabbed through my brain.

Is this fate?

I’d just lost my job and my ex-boss had given me thirty dollars.

This is fate. This has to be fate. What else can it be?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Electricity rose from my toes, up my legs, and into my chest. My pulse quickened. I had been wrong about luck before, but this spoke to me. Deeply.

It was happening. This was finally my moment. I’d spent a lot of my life playing the lottery, gambling, doing scratch offs, but this right here, this was my big break. It had to be. I was going to get exactly what I'd been looking for all this time.

What I wanted.

What I needed.

I stared up at the theatre, took a deep breath, and turned on my heel. My eyes scanned the storefronts on the street that edged the theatre. I already knew what I was looking for: fluorescent lights spelling out those magical words.

Directly across the street, I saw them.

Lottery Tickets in hot yellow neon.

Perfect.

I made my way across the street, carefully, not wanting to get hit by a car and ruin my chance. I actually smiled. My tears dried up and the corners of my mouth lifted. My feet felt light.

It was happening. This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for. The time when everything would come together, and the world would deliver itself to me.

I pulled open the door of the convenience store and stepped inside.

It was a convenience store I'd never been inside of before. Strange music played over the speakers: marimbas, some string instruments, some instruments I couldn't place. I made my way to the counter. The clerk wasn't there, but there was a bell with a sign next to it that read: Hit twice if in need of service. Thank you!

I held off on hitting the bell. I wanted to think for a moment.

Do you want to do scratch offs? Or do you want to do lottery tickets? Should you maybe do a kind of mix of both, to diversify?

I laughed out loud and shook my head.

Diversify. Me. Diversification. Sure.

When it was fate that had given you thirty dollars after losing your job and the rent was past due, was diversifying your gambling really what you were looking to do? Did that make sense? Would fate appreciate that?

No.

My mind made up; I rang the bell twice. The clerk opened a door behind the desk in a Plexiglas enclosure and stepped in.

“How may I help you?” he asked.

I bit my lip for a moment, took a deep breath. “Scratch offs,” I breathed.

“Okay.” He raised an eyebrow. “How many?”

I placed my thirty dollars into the lockbox and pushed the box to his side of the Plexiglas.

“As many as that gets me,” I said.

He nodded, counting the bills. “You’ve got a few options here. There are—”

“No,” I said. “You don't understand. That thirty dollars is going to get me the theatre.” His eyebrow lifted a little higher than it had been previously. “Pick whichever tickets you think are luckiest. I don't care.”

The man frowned.

Gamblers are finicky creatures. Superstitions, methods, rituals, we all have them. I don't know a single other gambler who’s left their fate in the hands of someone else, but I was doing that. I was giving myself over to fate, over to the clerk. This was the moment it all came to. This would be my deliverance.

“Are you sure?” he asked, glancing out the front window at the theatre across the street. “How much are they asking for it?”

How much?

I shrugged. I hadn't even thought to call the phone number.

“I don't know,” I answered. “The last time it was for sale I think they wanted $100,000 for it.”

“That's all?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” I said. “They're selling it more for the lot than the actual building.”

He nodded as if this made complete sense.

“Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

He unrolled multiple spools of scratch offs, taking a plethora from here and there, mixing them all up, before slipping them into the lockbox and pushing them to my side.

“I hope you win,” he said.

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Hope has nothing to do with this. This is fate. The theatre is mine.”

He shrugged and walked into the back room.

No faith.

I left the convenience store, driven and near giddy, and made my way across the street to the theatre. I sat on the curb by the front door and pulled out my lucky quarter. That's one ritual I always kept: I used the same quarter every time. It was a quarter I’d found so long ago, obviously, under one of the seats in the theatre whose parking lot I now sat in. I’d kept it hidden from everyone all these years and never spent it.

I skimmed the rules on the first scratch off and started scratching.

I didn't win.

It’s fine.

I started scratching the second one.

I didn't win.

It’s okay.

I scratched off the third, the fourth, the fifth.

Nothing.

I’ve got this.

I wasn't worried. I still had ten more scratch offs to do. I scratched through the pile, the entire stack of them, placing the losers, between my feet in a neat pile. They would obviously be going in the cabinet back in my apartment.

I stared at the last scratch off and smiled.

Obviously.

It was always going to come down to that last one. Of course. I read the rules carefully before taking a quick whiff of the ticket, wanting to know if it smelled like fate, like magic. My thoughts were laser-sharp and present for this single moment in time. I took the quarter, blew off the silvery and gold residue from the previous scratch offs, and started scratching.

My stomach dropped and my body went numb. I let go of the scratch off and it fell between my feet, perfectly on top of the stack of the other losers. Face down.

You didn't win.

I closed my eyes and felt the quarter slip from my fingers. I heard the roar of blood rushing in my ears. It felt like I was floating in nothingness.

I hadn't won. I hadn't won enough money to buy the theatre, to pay my rent, to save my life. I’d placed my faith in fate, allowed fate to move me forward, and fate had laughed in my face.

I took a long shuddering breath in and slowly let it out.

It was only halfway out when the wavering shriek that was building in my chest erupted. I screamed into the parking lot, screamed at the theatre I knew I would never own, screamed at my wretched luck, screamed at my habit, at Luke, at Ted, at the man who'd pinched me, at everything and everyone in my life who I'd ever counted on who hadn't delivered for me. I screamed at the life I was trapped in. I screamed up to the heavens and down to hell. I screamed for myself, and when I was finished all I was left with was nothing.

Less than nothing.

Negative bank account. A car that didn't work. Rent that was due that I didn't have. Zero.

I stared down at the stack of scratch offs between my feet and realized it was the perfect analogy for my life, especially that last scratch off.

It was what I was: a loser. A complete and utter loser. Something that had once held such hope, but whose hope had been scratched away entirely. Empty. Used. Worthless.

The scratch offs blurred as tears filled my eyes and began to fall, spattering down like raindrops. Even the sound of my teardrops hitting those tickets sounded hollow. Like my life. I felt an awful desperation crawl into my chest and throat, ready to choke me.

I'm not sure how long I sat on the curb crying onto those tickets with my head spinning.

All I know is that I hadn’t finished crying when I heard a familiar man’s voice say, "Hexana?"