[ WP ] The winning numbers for the powerball jackpot are 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 . One person wins .

I put my hand in my pocket, ignoring the hole I could n't patch, and pulled out my cracked leather wallet. The damn thing was barely held together, but it was all I had. I pulled two damp, folded dollar bills out and slid them across the counter. 
 
 `` One Powerball ticket.'' The cashier looked at me with contempt. Behind her dead smile, behind her lifeless green eyes, under her chopped red hair the clashed violently with her maroon shirt, I knew she was no better than me. Yet she had more than I ever did. 
 
 `` Quick Pick or filler?'' She smacked her chewing gum loudly, not bothering to close her mouth. 
 
 `` Filler.'' She shook her head and took my money, handing me a pen and slip of paper. I knew why. 
 
 I always played the same numbers whenever I could scrounge up change. It's hard, living on the streets, to find money. People do n't care about us, they just walk by. Yapping on their phones, playing on their tablets. They do n't have to live in the alleys and under the awnings. They do n't have to feel the bite of the wind that rips through your thin shirts and ragged pants. 
 
 I grabbed the paper and pen with my calloused hands, and began. 
 
 One. My first number. Because I only had one wife. One love, and she left me for that asshole Tom. Fuckin' Tom. Always coming over to help with shit. Where does he get off, eh? Fuck'em. Both of'em, for that matter. She never loved me, only stayed because of the kids. Heh. The kids. 
 
 Two. Our two kids. Precious angels, they were. Lily and Jessica never caused a peep of trouble. Good grades, good manners. I like to think they got them from my parents, because Stacy never had none of that. And I sure was n't around enough to show them. But now they're gone. It was an accident. I did n't see the other car. But they hit us, and we went off the bridge. The water rushed in so fast. By the time I got free, we were fully submerged. Funny, after Iraq I thought I'd never hate water, but now I ca n't be near it. 
 
 Three. The number of people I had die in my arms over there. It's tough, watching your friend die. I ca n't describe it, but I would n't wish it on anyone. Holding them, knowing medical wont get there soon enough. Knowing this is all they have left. Knowing it could have been you. 
 
 Four. The number of drinks I had before the fight. Before I confronted her about Tom, about the necklace, about his pants in my laundry. Four drinks to put up with her bullshit on our anniversary. Four places at the table, two of which we would n't ever fill again, and one of which would soon be empty. Four drinks before she told me to go when I told her I would kill Tom if he ever came back here. 
 
 Five. The number of AA meetings I attended before I quit going. Who needs them, huh? Sitting in their pretentious circle of judgement, not knowing me. 
 
 Six. The number of rounds I could put in my gun. I told myself I would do it by New Year's Eve unless I had a reason not to. And here we were, day before Christmas. I could feel the bullets in my front pocket. 
 
 I played these numbers, hoping some good might come from my sorrow. 
 
 I got my digitally printed ticket, and stepped out in to the drifting snow, looking for a place to spend the night.
