Standing behind her, sporting sunday-go-worshippin' attire: a white skirt twelve inches from the floor, tight, white slingbacks filled thick with stocking-ed feet, a white embroidered blazer loosely hangs from her large, matronly frame, and close-cropped curly ringlets fried, er, um dyed blonde denies her age. Behind me, he wish to buy a 40 ounce beer instead of the 2 liter sprite, but on Blue-Law Sunday, its a sin as he impatiently waits... while she stalls the line at the gas-station convenience store to buy lottery tickets, an exchange of deliverance for chance. Isn't life, but chance? I think I'll buy one too.