Ethel Bradley had fallen asleep in front of a flickering TV.
It was too bad.
If she had been awake, she might have discovered that she had won the lotto jackpot. The numbers she played every week for over seventeen years––the birthdays of her deceased husband and son––had finally come in.
The lotto ticket was safely tucked inside her chubby little fist, which rested upon her heaving lap.
A younger hand gently reached over and pulled the ticket from her tiny fist while the announcer re-read the numbers.
Stunned at winning, the owner of the younger hand returned the ticket to Ethel’s lap.
This would have to be handled with care. With a little finesse, this could play into a really big score, but would have to be thought through very carefully.
But one thing was for sure. There was no way Ethel Bradley was going to enjoy one dollar from that winning lotto ticket.
No damned way in hell!