Part 1

Sitting by the window of the coffee shop, Cornel Pretorius noticed a scratch-off lottery ticket on the floor. He picked it up and placed it on the table next to his steaming tea. Digital cash chimed and people pressed through to the pick-up nook. He let the moments pass, amused by the human bustle. People needed coffee even as the world was ending, with rising temperatures, tectonic plates pushing up new mountain ranges in California and Oregon, and the U.S. now growing coffee beans – cheaper and filled with natural amphetamines. Cornel sipped his tea. The screens served weather for the new world: cloud cover, sulfur content in the air, and ashfall precipitation.

A small, young, dirty creature walked into the shop. Below the sickly, pale face, her undeveloped, hunched body hid in an oversized shiny black coat with large white pockets. She scanned the shop in Cornel’s direction. She walked toward him scanning tables and floors. She was cautious to go unnoticed by the staff.

“That’s my scratcher,” the girl turned to him, pointing a long finger at the end of a diminutive palm and a slight, narrow wrist. Her frizzed, translucent hair dyed purple was falling out in patches, and her badly glued, oddly curled, inch-long eyelashes flapped and gleamed like black polyester sails.

“Excuse me?”

“The scratcher. It’s mine. I bought it. I want it back.”

“I found it. It’s mine,” Cornel said with amusement.

“No. No, it isn’t. It can’t be. It’s mine. I bought it. I lost it.”

“But I found it,” Cornel repeated.

“But it’s mine.”

“How do I know it’s yours?”

“Because I bought it. I bought the lot. Look.” She turned out her coat pockets with her fists clenching crinkled lottery tickets. “It’s mine.”

“Okay. You can have it. I’ll sell it to you.”

“What?”

“I found it. It’s my lottery ticket. I’ll sell it to you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe. But this could be the one. Am I right?” Cornel smiled.

“I bought fifty tickets. I have forty-nine tickets in my pockets. This is mine.”

“No. No longer it is not. You can buy it. I’ll let you have it for twenty dollars.”

“What? Youse crazy. They cost three dollars. You a crazy man,” she shouted. A barista approached and Cornel welcomed him coming. The girl’s long fingers pulled at her hair and her nails scraped at the scalp. Before the barista opened his mouth, Cornel extended his arm to silence him while keeping his eyes on the girl. She scratched her scalp obsessively.

“Are you homeless?”

The girl pulled at the hair, a strand dropped to the floor. Her elbows tightened at her chest as if to make herself larger and protect herself from the beast in front of her.

“What is it to you? Give me my scratcher back.”

Cornel turned to the Barista.

“Yes?”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No. No problem. Just making a deal with the young lady.” Cornel nodded. The girl’s spine curled and she looked away as she scratched and pulled hair a handful at a time, dander and hair dusting her shoulders. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem, sir.”

“And bring a latte and a couple of scones. Young lady is likely to pay.” Cornel winked at the girl.

“Screw you.”

“Certainly.” The barista walked away.

“So, have any of the forty-nine won?” Cornel nodded looking at the large white pockets.

“Three free draws, but those lost.”

“This may be the one.” Cornel tapped the ticket with his finger.

“I want my scratcher back.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Five. I give you five.” The creature cringed.

Cornel’s nail started to gently scrape the ticket’s rubberized coating.

“I think I’ll keep it. One out of fifty should be something. Don’t you think?”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll give you ten,” she said stretching a crumpled bill toward him.

“So far, fifty-two loser tickets total. I don’t know. This may be the one. I had never bought a scratcher before. I think I’ll keep it. I might like it,” Cornel looked away and sipped his tea, feigning disinterest and checking his phone.

“Twenty! I give twenty,” the girl shouted.

“Put the money on the table,” he said firmly.

Her hands scrambled through the pockets of the coat. She fished out a few crumpled bills and put them on the table. He collected the cash, and his fingers swept the lottery ticket off the table. It fell into the lint by the radiator and the girl dived to catch it. She landed on her stomach in the dirt with the scratcher underneath her. The coat swept dirt and ash. She jumped up, ticket clenched in her fist, and a grey ellipse of dirt sprawled down her chest.

“Screw you,” she shouted at him.

“Don’t mention it.” Cornel smiled. “I want to know whether you won.”

The girl grinned. “You will never know, and that’s how it’s always going to be.” She turned and walked briskly out of the shop.