A Study in Numbers

One afternoon I sat alone, deaths mounting and friends all gone, scratching that lottery ticket of lost loves. Debt was piling and I questioned if I should make the things I make anymore because the price was rising every day to remain me. Suddenly the numbers came tumbling through the room. Some of them formed the vase, some formed the flowers and leaves, some numbers even corralled the space — it’s almost as if they knew I had a bad disease of always being only me, that I could have used some cold company. And in this I got comfort that at least the numbers will never lie to a man lost. And if you are a betting man, I do have that lottery ticket in a little locked box.