All the wishbones I pulled as a child, never fruitful.
The cigarettes, lottery tickets, and beer I’d be sent to the corner store for, and of course the unemployment checks brought to pay for it all.
A roll of the dice; a pull of the slot machine, and everything would change for us. My dad consistently preached these strategies with his Irish brogue, in between three to five-day visits to Atlantic City.
“Oh, well,” he would reassuringly promise each night after the pretty lady announced the winning lottery numbers. “Tomorrow we’ll get it!”