O twice-lucky man

A small bird shat on my head this morning as I was on my way downtown for my usual weekend shopping. You might not know this, but being shat upon by small birds is a good thing, it brings you luck. At least that's what my grandmother said, and she never lied. A saint, she was, really.

So I immediately went to the local lottery ticket emporium and splashed out on a chance of eternal damnation. As I handed over the form and a handful of cash, it happened: I found a brand new penny Eurocent on the floor of the shop.

Well, that's settled! The rest of you lottery tippers might as well ask for your money back. First birdshit, then a Glückspfennig (literally, lucky penny): the win is now quite simply inevitable. The next time we meet, I shall be filthy rich (though not obscenely rich, much less egregiously rich; that kind of money takes generations to acquire).

Actually, winning the lottery would not change very much (leaving aside the risk that it completely ruins my fine and noble character): I would continue to live in Stuttgart (though I would move uphill to an apartment with a view, near to the forest) and would still be writing software for the customers of Variously Sized Financial Service Corporations (though I would hire an assistant). I'd continue to live modestly and quietly in my circle of friends, family and opera-goers.

Now, where did I put that ocean-going-yacht catalogue?