The only reason why I smoked weed that afternoon was because I know it makes my pothead friend happy. I’m not saying this to pat myself on the back—although some recognition would be nice—but to illustrate the point that the seemingly irrelevant sometimes becomes relevant in hindsight. Had I not smoked, I wouldn’t have been hungry, and thus wouldn’t have gone to the gas station in search of snacks. But I did, so I was, so I went.

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The bright lights inside the store caused me to stop on my tracks as soon as I entered. “High,” I said almost involuntarily, half saying hi to the store and half acknowledging my condition. I turned my head and saw the cashier standing there. He was literally standing still, like a statue. “High,” I said again, in his direction. He wasn’t funny looking or anything but I found him hilarious. I pursed my lips trying not to laugh but I still teared up, and my whole face looked like that of a kid trying not to laugh at their teacher. I wasn’t laughing at him, it was just a stoner laugh that happened to have been caused by him. I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him, which made me paranoid. I hid myself between the shelves, I wasn’t fit for society. I grabbed a bag of chips, some cookies and got in line to pay, knowing full well that I wasn’t going to be able to face the cashier. If he spoke, I was going to laugh, there was no way around it.

 

It was my turn to pay. “Is that gonna be all?” he asked. 

 

I didn’t laugh. I sighed. “Yup, that’s all. Sorry I’m acting weird man, I’m high as fuck,” I confessed. 

 

The young man slowly leaned towards me, looked sideways and whispered “you’re not the only one.” He smiled and winked, I laughed and clapped. The camaraderie was so intense I could have cried. 

 

“Oh man, this was my favorite part of the day,” I said. I handed him my credit card. He did his little cashier thing. 

 

“Bro I’m sorry, you’re two bucks short to pay with card,” he said, pointing to a handwritten in blue ink sign that read “Card Pay min. $5.”

 

“Well, that looks official,” I said. I glanced around, looking for something absurd to buy. On top of the counter, they had condoms and lottery tickets on display. “Equally unlikely,” I thought out loud. “I’ll take this lottery ticket,” I said while I picked it up. “Do I have to choose any numbers or something? I don’t know how this works,” I said. 

 

“Nah, you just scratch here and see if your numbers came up. This one is valid for tomorrow’s draw, see?” he explained. 

 

“Oh, alright, cool. Thanks man.” I paid. We fist bumped. I left. Cool dude.

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I had barely left the store when I was struck with the utmost conviction that I was holding the winning ticket. I can’t explain it, but at that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that I had won the lottery. I’m usually extremely skeptical about things that don’t have a scientific explanation, but never in my life had I had a feeling such as this about anything.

 

Carrying what undoubtedly was a winning lottery ticket in my pocket, I skipped towards another friend’s house where I was informed a pre-game was going on.

 

At my friend's house, my premonition was initially met with laughter, mockery and insult, but the conversation shifted quickly into a calculation of how much I should give each of them if it turned out to be true. Even though I knew we were just joking, there was something slightly disturbing about the way their eyes lightened up when, after the fourth whisky, I promised cars for everyone.

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Five hours and five Old-fashioneds later, I found myself alone at the bar. I still had some battery left in me, and even though I’m not one to enjoy being alone in such environments, extending the night increases the chances of something interesting happening.

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I stood in line for the only restroom in the bar. Soon after, a girl got in line right behind me. She had her whole body covered in tattoos which gave her an extra appeal in my view. I put my hand in my pocket to feel the lottery ticket between my fingers. It was my turn to enter the restroom. I don’t know if the confidence came from the ticket or the Old Fashioneds, but without much thinking I gestured to her “wanna come in?” with a tilt of the head. To my surprise, she accepted. We entered together and I let her go first.

 

She sat in the toilet with her legs crossed, pulled up her skirt, and pulled down her underwear. “Look away!” she said.

 

“No way, I wanna see,” I answered while I watched her from the corner of the room. It looked like she was enjoying my watching her. She finished, got dressed, got up, and flushed. My turn. I stood in front of the toilet, unzipped, and turn my head towards her, “do you wanna see what it feels like to pee like a man?” I asked her.

 

She laughed, covering her eyes with one hand. I stood still. She opened a window between her fingers and looked at me with one eye. Without saying a word, she stood behind me, wrapped her arms around me and held my dick gently with both hands. I peed. She kissed me on the cheek from behind and left.

​

I went home. What a day. What a night.

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