I guess I am the kind of person you don’t want to be in a disaster with. Not because I am unlucky, not really. I mean, I don’t die or anything. But if there is a weird thing going to happen I am almost always involved.

Not big stuff, though, not newspaper headlines weird, just odd. Like when I got on the plane, and I put the boarding pass between my lips as I went through security. You know, the whole scanning thing, and take out the lap top, and take off your shoes. And then when I went to grab the boarding pass, it was stuck to my lower lip. Swear to god. So I had to peel it off, and I’m buggered if there wasn’t a line of skin on the boarding pass, a semi circle, like the shape of your teeth, only in skin. And my lower lip felt all swollen, like I was in a fight with something. My tongue is still hunting for the soreness, and finding it.

My glass of wine on the plane stung a little. It’s never good wine, but it doesn’t usually sting going down. That sort of stuff. It’s  enough to make me feel, like, marked. Not in a 666 devilish  sort of way, just that if there is a weird thing going to happen it’ll happen to me.

Like the time I locked myself between my own front door and the security gate. That was weird. I managed to get someone passing to call my dad, who has my spare keys. You have to have spare keys, with my kind of karma. The guy went to the bakery on the corner, and called my dad, and he came and let me out. Laughed like a hose, he did. He shakes his head when that sort of thing happens. Like he thinks I should be James Bond and always have a snappy comeback, or a martini. Not be keyless, in Gaza.


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