Three Playing Cards

There are three playing cards laid out on the table in front of her. The frayed edges blend into the polished white counter, a stark contrast to the dark room lit only by candles. Near the edge of the circle of light, sits her friend. Her deep brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, large chunks from either side slipping loose to frame her face. She’s fully engrossed in the playing cards, eyes sparkling with excitement, looking at the small red symbols on them.
“Oh this is a good one!” she says, looking up and meeting my eyes. “When you draw these in this order it means that…”

There have always been numbers that he likes, whenever he notices that there are once again 6 days until something is due, something happens on the sixth, or he has to get off the freeway in six miles he gets that little feeling like every detail is falling into place. He wonders if everyone else feels the same need to have all these coincidences line up to create a picture, even if that picture is completely inconsequential and no one but him will ever even notice (or care).
In a way, he doesn’t even want to do it, instead feeling this odd compulsion to make sure that the small details in his life line up to his favorite number, making sure everything can be grouped in batches of six, round and around they go.

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