A Dollar’s Worth Of Luck

Jenni and I are safely nestled in the Hotel Bentley after our 17 hour slog across the ocean.

Not all that much to mention as of yet. We didn’t get in until 3am and slept till 1pm, so we’ve only just ventured forth from our air conditioned cave.

Lunch was a delicious red goo with chunks of what I’m pretty sure was okra in it. No idea what it was called, it was the chef’s recommendation for something appropriately spicy for a puny American pallate.

Our next adventures are certain to turn out propitiously as we were waylaid on the street by a couple fellows who, for the bargain price of $1 apiece, painted dots on our heads and tied strings around our wrists guaranteeing a future we would be happy with.

I figure the dot marks me as a rube, but I’m hoping it’ll be like the newspaper the Shriners sell. (The Shriners stand at stop lights selling newspapers for disabled kids or something. When they sell, they’ll blanket an area for a couple weeks, so you buy your Shriners paper and put it on your dash to get the Shriners to leave you be.) I’m going to tell any future purveyors of good fortune that I’m full up already.

(I can’t spell worth a damn and this dusty version of IE has no spell check, so I apologize in advance for any errors.)

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