I checked the numbers no less than twenty times, but it still didn’t feel real, which robbed me of any sense of happiness, much less of the exhilaration one is supposed to feel. I ran to my room, grabbed a piece of paper from an old notebook and the remains of a pencil, and wrote down the numbers. Numbers weren’t making any sense whatsoever. Not only those specific numbers, but the general concept of numbers. Are numbers even a thing? I felt as if I were just doodling meaningless hieroglyphics. I became skeptical of reality. I grabbed a calculator and did some basic math to verify that numbers existed. They did. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror to verify that I existed. As far as I could tell, I did. “I think, therefore I am,” I said this with my stupid face into the mirror. I thought about my dead relatives looking at this scene and felt embarrassed.

 

I took a sip of coke, but it wasn’t cold enough, which made me more upset than it should have.

​

I needed to clear my head to avoid having a breakdown, not that I had experienced one before, but if there was such a thing as a pre-mental breakdown, that was surely it. I put the ticket in my pocket and went for a walk.

​

For the first few blocks I was still in a haze. Then, the more I walked, the more that the initial denial gave way to “the feeling.” There are no good words to describe “the feeling.” Yes, it’s happiness; yes, it’s joy, but those words don’t quite capture it. It’s very much an out-of-body experience. I didn’t realize it was cold until I saw people wearing coats and jackets. But I wasn’t cold nor warm. I couldn’t feel temperature. I was surrounded by people who were walking about, going wherever they were going, preoccupied about whatever it was that they were preoccupied about, but I wasn’t really walking among them; I was floating. I knew something they didn’t. I had a rainbow in my pocket. I had Frodo’s ring. I had Genghis Khan’s Grand Fleet. I had my future. Hell, I had my great-grandson’s future!

 

I wanted my cold coke. I demanded my cold coke! But all the convenience stores a mile around were closed. “I’ll buy it in a restaurant, I’m rich, I don’t care,” I thought. I entered the first restaurant I saw and ordered the coke with a grin stamped on my face. The waiter that handed it to me had never seen such satisfied customer. $4 coke, $3 tip. It felt good. It felt too good. It felt so good that I got worried.

 

Am I a rich asshole now? I don’t want to be a rich asshole. It starts with a $7 coke, where does it end? Next thing I know I’m buying those champagne bottles that a bunch of girls in tiny clothes bring to your table with sparklers lit in techno clubs; fuck, I’ll be going to techno clubs! I’ll arrive to the club in my fluorescent Lambo, wearing sunglasses and my Gucci suit, one of those extravagant suits at which I laugh today; I’ll throw the keys to the valet guy with a flick of the thumb, he’ll respond with whichever gesture signals ‘you’re the man’ to his generation, whilst internally thinking what a tiny dick asshole I am, but I’ll be so disconnected from reality by then that I will actually believe that he thinks I’m the man. Girls will throw themselves at me and I’ll convince myself that they’re truly interested in me. All my new entourage would cheer; they’d also tell me I’m the man. My past friends all gone soon, I loved them, but they just didn’t understand… 

I’ll help my immediate family and that’s all good, but not before long I got cousins crawling out of the sewers; fourth cousins, fifth cousins wanting a piece of the pie. My uncle, who couldn’t be bothered to show up on my last birthday, suddenly can’t wait to tell me all about this business idea he came up with. But he’s not the only one, everyone is offering me so-called investment opportunities, I’m just a Lambo-drivin’, Gucci-wearin’, walking sack of cash. 

 

I hated that idea, I didn’t want to go to techno clubs. I had a lot to think about. I started to consider alternative options.

​

Should I throw it away? Probably not. Maybe donate the money. But if I cash the prize I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to give it up. What if I give the ticket to the dude from the store? Yeah! He’ll probably appreciate it, and as per anecdote value, I’m getting more than my money’s worth.

​

The math checked out. Optimizing for anecdote value is always the right thing to do. I kept walking. My mind started to settle. I grew more and more convinced as blocks went by. 

I passed a cute little guitar store. It was closed. I put my forehead against the window with my hands on the sides of my face to see what was inside. Cool guitar. I kinda want it. I kinda want them all.

 

THE END