The Weekday One Hundred

All my change is on the counter. I’m short but count it out anyway hoping for a miracle. I even pat my empty pockets, making doubly sure.

“A little help?” I finally beg.

The clerk is unmoved. Doesn’t even shake his head.

“Credit card?” I ask.

He points to the sign above: Lottery sales are cash only.

I look down at the plastic container for abandoned pennies but it’s bone dry. There’s nowhere else to turn.

I corral my $1.97 and slide it off the counter into my front pocket. “You better hope my numbers don’t hit tonight,” I warn.