Rought is reaching for me, feeling for me.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to hold onto the feeling. Then I pick up my pace.
The universe isn’t done with me. There are obviously more imbalances to shift in the correct direction before I get to go home.
A single coin sits on the console of the center slot machine, as if just randomly abandoned and forgotten. Hard currency is so rare in California that I doubt the gas station deals in any of it.
“You can buy a set of blanks,” the clerk behind the counter calls out to me cheerily before he returns his attention to the customer in front of him.
I pluck up the coin, insert it into the machine, and pull the lever. The slot machine clanks. Lights twinkle and flash. Then the central dials or whatever they’re called start to spin. One by one, each slows, eventually settling to display a single red heart.
Three red hearts in a row.
I mutter again. “Playing matchmaker, are we?” But despite my sarcasm, I stare at the three hearts just a little too long …
Is the third heart a bit tarnished around the edges? Or am I just seriously sleep deprived?
The slot machine all but explodes in a blaze of flashing lights and jangling music. Then dozens upon dozens of coins, mostly blanks, drop into a receptacle near the bottom of the machine.
“Holy crow!” the clerk cries, skirting around the counter. “I’ve never seen any of these machines —” He cuts himself off, perhaps realizing he was about to expose company secrets — as in the machines being really just for display. He blinks down at the large pile of coins and blanks, then rubs the back of his neck. “Um, that’s, um, that’s a lot to count up.”
I point to the display on the machine, which helpfully reads ‘$500’ in blinking lights.
“Right,” he says, his grin returning. “Great, um, let me get a container.”
“I just need four of your dollar scratch lotto tickets and a pair of sunglasses,” I say. “You can keep the change.”
He finally looks at me. “Keep the change? That’s … that’s like … that’s most of the winnings.”
I remove the cheap pair of sunglasses I grabbed at the last gas station. “Can you do better than these?”
The clerk blanches at the sight of my eyes. As a null, he can’t feel my energy, my essence, but he obviously knows what purple eyes mean. Education is a priority in California, including how to identify predators. He’ll be making a call to the local police to report an awry sighting the moment I leave the area. Maybe even before.
“Your darkest, most expensive pair?” I ask, waving the sunglasses in my hand.
He bobs his head. “I have … I actually have a … it’s weird, but I saw this pair of glasses at the pawnshop yesterday. Vintage, you know. And I … they don’t even fit me well, but I bought them anyway …”
I laugh quietly. “They’re for me.”
The clerk breathes a little shakily, nodding. Then he stumbles over his feet as he crosses back around the counter without taking his eyes off me. Not as if I’m going to attack, but as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
He pulls a backpack out from under the counter, then tugs out a black glasses case, passing it to me while being careful to not touch my fingers.
I open the case, plucking out the black-and-gold-framed vintage designer glasses and sliding them on. “Perfect.”
The clerk blinks at me. Then a ghost of his former smile curls over his lips. “They look better on you.”
“Thank you.” It’s totally psychological and just a little bit snobby, but I swear my headache eases a little more. “The lotto tickets?”
“Four, right?” He lifts the polymer top of the shallow display case on the counter between us that holds dozens of lottery tickets. “Do you want me to pick for you?”
“Why break your winning streak?” I grin. Then, as his hand hovers over the twenty-five-dollar tickets in the corner closest to him, I add, “Just the dollar ones.”
“I can’t really take your jackpot,” he says quietly. “Employees aren’t allowed to buy the tickets or play the slots.”
“But you can accept tips?”
He nods.
