A Dollar and a Dream

Jimmy needed seven more dollars to make rent. Seven. The kind of number that makes you laugh because it might as well be a million. He dug through the couch cushions—fifty cents. Checked the pockets of last week’s jeans—crumpled receipt, no cash.

At the corner store, he bought a scratch-off with his last buck. Scratched it with the edge of a broken house key.

Loser.

The clerk smirked. Jimmy smirked back.

"Figures," he said.

Outside, he lit a cigarette and stared at the sky. Rent would have to wait. So would everything else.