Lucky

People keep telling me I’m lucky and I should play the lottery. Not like, people who know me, but in the street. In shops. Restaurants. Random people in random places. Strangers. I believe angels speak through strangers. Because I’m bipolar and batshit crazy, according to many of the strangers on the internet who comment on my work and life. 

But the ones who meet me in real life believe I’m so very lucky. 

Anyway, I listen to them. The angelic street strangers. And I’ve bought lottery tickets after all of these run-ins. But I haven’t won. Not the mega millions. Not the California lottery. Not the SuperLotto. Not the Powerball.

And then it happened again today, as I was walking into a hotel in downtown Manhattan. 

A passing man with his arms full of camera gear dropped one of his belongings. Some kind of black, cloth cover, with a silver interior. I chased after it as it blew in the wind and then I chased after him. The doorman watched this simple gesture that I’m sure MOST anyone would h…