Who’ll give me 20, 20, 30, 20, 19, Now 20?

Jack wrote this in April, 2005, when he was studying the behavior of lottery number draws:

A person who’s ever been to a livestock auction might be driven to flights of fancy about those draws, liken them to an auction barn on Saturday morning.  Truckloads of etherial kine, swine, sheeplike and goatlike creatures coming in by trailer, pickup truck, offloading into pens where someone slaps a number on each back.

Run into the barn, Mega Millions, Powerball, the big bidders in the bleachers behind the steel fence, eyeing one another with distaste and mild suspicion.  NM Roadrunner, Kansas Cash, all the little guys watching the biggies, hoping to go home with a little something at the right price.

19 comes through the big doors at the end, whips snap to get him moving to the center where everyone can look him over.

“Here’s a prize one…. good breeder…. look at the bollocks on that guy!…. Weighs in at 1452 not counting the angry.  Who’ll start the bids on this snot-slinger?  Who’s going to be the first to try to trailer him?”

Mega Millions gives an almost invisible flinch of his hat brim.

“Ha!  I knew you couldn’t pass this one up.”  Whip points from the floor.  Glance at Power Ball, expecting.

Every day, every night. Who’s going to try to trailer this one? 19 who’ll give me 20, 20, 25, 20?

Jack

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