Dumb luck brought me to Durham, but misfortune inundated my veins. Bad luck never led me home, yet I found myself standing in the falling sleet with only a sliver of a jacket and the thinnest boots I owned. And the damned pigeons. Birds of a feather flocked together — this I know. I was just waiting for a reason to not come back, but my blood cried out for fortune.
I have spent twelve years chasing the jackpot, and time grew thinner to buy my last ticket. Joe had told me, “these things come in due time,” but he didn’t wake up in a cold sweat from chasing the clock in his dreams. Nightmares, really. The clock was ticking, and I felt a moment before midnight strike.
I needed to score heroin, or I would have a more than miserable winter in the company of the park pigeons.
In addition to the daily flash fiction, I am going to start a serialized short story cycle, beginning each Saturday and ending on Fridays. Credit for the image prompt goes to Ermilia.