Thomas Reed doesnt think very highly of himself, in fact if you asked him about his personality, or his favorite things to do, his life is so bleak he couldn't even respond with a proper answer. He's read all the philosophy literature he could, talking about how special life is, and how you should make the most of it. He could tell you that the odds of you being alive right now are 1 in 400 trillion, and yet Thomas still works 9-5 every day at a desk, feeling insignificant and dull. He feared this for so long in his youth, talking about if his life becomes so boring he might as well off himself, that's harsh though. Thomas had two great parents, he's very thankful for how they raised him, and that they supported him through everything. He's worked for a lot of things, and still doesnt think he deserves much. He has the worst luck, so maybe he deserves that.
Sometimes after work Thomas would cave into his guilty pleasure of purchasing lottery tickets. The odds of winning the Jackpot for Mega-MIllions (his go-to purchase) are one in 302.5 million. And one too many times a week he Splurges on tickets. How ridiculous.
“That’s where all your damn money goes!” He can already hear his dad lecturing him at the next holiday. He is walking on eggshells regarding money. Finally friday arrives, which means going out for a drink with his old, and only buddy Mark. Mark is really his only friend since he moved to this town, and the only reason he knows him is because they went to high school together. Thomas wrote down his lottery numbers, just in case, because they always air the lottery on the television at the bar. Rusty Stool Bar, the neon sign glows, except the t has gone black, so its just Rusty Sool Bar.
“3-8-8-58-89-34” The television man said. Nope, a couple numbers off.
“You're still on that lottery stuff?” Mark mocks as Thomas focused on reading his tickets.
“4-78-63-8-40-35-1” The man said.
“4-78-63-8-40-35-1” He mumbled to himself. No, wait. It's obviously a miss, or Thomas was reading it wrong.
“Mark, take a look at this.” Thomas whispered, needing a second view on the phenomenon.
“Dude! Call Mega-Millions!” Mark exclaimed to his friend. Thomas had never been even close to winning before so he had no clue on how the process works. In shock, he called up the place.
“Congratulations on your stroke of serendipity Mr. Reeds, we will confirm your possible win in the next 24 hours!”
Sometimes after work Thomas would cave into his guilty pleasure of purchasing lottery tickets. The odds of winning the Jackpot for Mega-MIllions (his go-to purchase) are one in 302.5 million. And one too many times a week he Splurges on tickets. How ridiculous.
“That’s where all your damn money goes!” He can already hear his dad lecturing him at the next holiday. He is walking on eggshells regarding money. Finally friday arrives, which means going out for a drink with his old, and only buddy Mark. Mark is really his only friend since he moved to this town, and the only reason he knows him is because they went to high school together. Thomas wrote down his lottery numbers, just in case, because they always air the lottery on the television at the bar. Rusty Stool Bar, the neon sign glows, except the t has gone black, so its just Rusty Sool Bar.
“3-8-8-58-89-34” The television man said. Nope, a couple numbers off.
“You're still on that lottery stuff?” Mark mocks as Thomas focused on reading his tickets.
“4-78-63-8-40-35-1” The man said.
“4-78-63-8-40-35-1” He mumbled to himself. No, wait. It's obviously a miss, or Thomas was reading it wrong.
“Mark, take a look at this.” Thomas whispered, needing a second view on the phenomenon.
“Dude! Call Mega-Millions!” Mark exclaimed to his friend. Thomas had never been even close to winning before so he had no clue on how the process works. In shock, he called up the place.
“Congratulations on your stroke of serendipity Mr. Reeds, we will confirm your possible win in the next 24 hours!”
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