Michael Garrad's View

Lucky

“Lucky Strike?” the American invited, proffering the crush pack of cigarettes.

The blonde at the bar in her “lucky dress” said, “Thanks.”

“I’ve struck lucky,” the American thought, as he inhaled deeply and lit the blonde’s cigarette, all at the same time! (Remembering smoking is illegal now, even in the toilet – “Don’t push your luck,” some would say. “Stay lucky,” others would say.)

“Lucky I was here,” the blonde thought, flashing a gorgeous smile.

“I should be so lucky,” the American thought – if he had been an Australian, because that’s how Australians say it.

“Lucky for me or for him?” the blonde pondered as an after-thought, studying the American’s pot-belly, distastefully (too many hamburgers!).

“Lucky strike with gold,” the American said, eager to boast about his mining success – and wanting to impress the blonde.

“Lucky you,” the blonde said, and she hadn’t even inhaled on her cigarette – just puffed.

The American was still inhaling deeply.

“Lucky I met you,” he said, hopefully, with an ear on breaking news about gold fever on the stock market and how “the rush” was on.

The “rush” was one way (wrong way, turn back, in highway parlance) – gold was getting “panned”.

And the blonde wasn’t smiling anymore, even though she still looked great in her figure-hugging gold dress. Perhaps she had devalued, too!

The American’s mobile rang and the news wasn’t good. His test results had shown up lung cancer.

“Are you okay?” the blonde asked, squirming uncomfortably because she hadn’t wanted to give the wrong impression by so readily accepting a Lucky Strike cigarette and because the dress just didn’t feel right.

“Some bad luck,” the American said, thinking not only would he not have the energy for “getting anywhere” with the blonde but his prospective fortune had nose-dived and his doctor had opinioned that he might die within three months.

Not so lucky for some!