Little Black Book

You truly never know what you’re going to find in New York City.

I had been down on my luck for quite some time. This city is expensive, and I only work a crappy retail job that’s barely enough to pay my bills. I found myself living paycheck to paycheck with no immediate end in sight.

Then, I came across the book.

I had been walking down 14th street, once again on my way to the job that I absolutely hated but could not live without.

At any given time of day, anywhere in Manhattan, there are street vendors all over the place. I don’t just mean those who are offering hot dogs or coffee. You could find some really weird stuff. Anything from custom T-shirts to dress shoes to used books.

Normally, I don’t pay any mind to these vendors since I’m trying to hold on to every cent that I have in order to live. But every so often a table of used books would catch my eye. Books were the only thing that I splurged on. They helped me forget about my own less than ideal life by taking me to the world of someone else’s.

I can’t say what drew me to this particular table. It wasn’t much. Just a few battered hardcovers that didn’t have any names on the spines. Still, they drew me in like they were water and I was a suffocating fish.

Normally, these tables are run by an ordinary person like you or me. Someone who’s just trying to make a little extra money so that they can get by a bit easier. But this table seemed to be run by no one. As I got closer, I saw why.

A sign on the table proclaimed “Free. Take one.”

I was not about to turn down a free book. No matter the subject matter. So, I grabbed a little black book with no title.

Just as I was about to open it, my phone alarm blared, telling me that I had five minutes left to get to work. So, I absentmindedly shoved the book into my coat pocket and went on my merry way.

Later that day, when I was on my lunch break, I finally pulled the book out. It was one of those days where I didn’t have enough money to actually get anything to eat for lunch, so I had planned to distract myself instead.

I sat down in the break room and opened the book to the first page and found…nothing. No title. No words. Nothing.

That was when I realized that this wasn’t a normal book at all. It was a journal.

“What a rip off.” I thought to myself before remembering that I had gotten it for free.

I was about to put the book away. Maybe it would make a nice gift for someone down the line. But something told me to leaf through the pages. Maybe the same something that had told me to approach the table in the first place.

Most of the pages were blank, but about half way through I noticed some writing. I stopped at the page and opened it to see what the previous owner had thought was important enough to write down.

1467 14th street

1/12/2018

2:44 PM

Number 22

Big bank doubler

I looked at the words for a while, trying to decipher their meaning. Something about them looked familiar, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what. The first line was obviously an address and the next two were a date and time.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized that the date was today’s date.

With my mouth hanging open, I fumbled my phone out of my pocket.

2:38 PM

“What the f-“

Hastily, I pulled up the address in my phone and the marker popped up telling me that it was only one block away.

I’m not the impulsive type, but what ever this was was to much of a coincidence. So, I grabbed my coat, left my store, and went to find the address.

Five minutes later I was standing in front of a regular convenience store. The type that sold cigarettes and candy and soda, one of those.

I checked the address in the book and on my phone to make sure that I was in the right place. It said that I was. Not only that, but as I watched, the clock ticked over to 2:44 PM.

I was in the right spot at the right time, so I went in.

Inside, the store was empty, except for the clerk at the counter. I had absolutely no idea what to do from here, so I went up to him and decided to try my luck.

“Number 22? Big bank doubler?”

The clerk didn’t speak as he took a step to the side to where the scratch off lotto tickets were. He ripped off a number 22 and set it on the counter. I looked at it and sure enough, the name of the game was “Big bank Doubler”.

I moved to take the ticket, my heart hammering in my chest. Before I could grab it, the clerk placed a firm hand down, holding it in place. With his finger, he pointed to the corner of the ticket.

Of course, you had to pay for these things.

The price in the corner said $2. My budget for the day. I know, what kind of budget was that? That should really let it sink in as to how much I had been struggling.

From my pocket I pulled two crumpled up one’s and placed them on the counter. The clerk released his hold, and I got my ticket. Only then did I realize that I didn’t have a coin to scratch the thing.

Luckily, I did have my set of house keys. It was a bit unorthodox, but it worked. I scratched the ticket, revealing the numbers, and then I looked to see if I had won.

Not only had I won. But I had hit the jackpot! $20,000!

People assume that life changing money is somewhere in the millions. But that’s not necessarily true. For me, this was life changing. I looked down at the ticket and I actually started to cry.

According to New York State, anything over a $500 win had to be mailed in in order to claim. But I wasn’t complaining. I had survived this long on what little I had. I could wait a little longer.

With that kind of money, I was able to reduce my hours at work and dedicate more time to my passion. I had always loved books and I had always wanted to try my hand at writing, but I never had the time to sit down and make the attempt.

Now, I did. I sat down and I wrote. By the time I was done, so was the money that I had won. But it didn’t matter. Shortly after I finished, my book was picked up and published.

From that point on, I became a writer full time. I got to quit the job that I hated and do something that I loved instead.

It was months before I thought about the little black book again. I had never told anyone about it. I felt like if I did it would all go away.

But there was something itching in the back of my mind.

Finally, I figured out what it was.

Something had been familiar about the address and info that had been written down. But then I realized that it wasn’t what was written that was familiar. It was how it was written.

It had taken me all this time to realize that it had been in my own handwriting.