The Wall of Shame was becoming the Walls of Shame, Dorian Guentzel having filled the south wall, floor to ceiling, got started with a row on the west wall.
Dorian, when drunk, sometimes called his Wall of Shame the “Fuck Andrea” wall.
She was the one who said he could wallpaper the basement with his losing lottery tickets, which he began to do shortly after she left.
He could still hear the safety chain from her brother’s trailer full of her stuff dragging along the driveway as they pulled out.
Dorian felt like he could use the previous numbers as a guide to determine what might hit next.
The wall made it easier. He leaned on the ping pong table and did strange, almost alien math in an old blue notebook he once wrote song lyrics in.
His figuring done, his twenty tickets purchased and splayed in front of him on a cheap aluminum TV dinner table his parents had gotten in Niagara Falls, he drank beer through a straw and watched the news, waiting for the drawing.
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