The scratch-off ticket lay flat inside its clear plastic sleeve, untorn and unbent.

I checked the numbers across the top line one more time against the printed slip from the Shell station.

Seventy-three million dollars.

My phone chimed on the passenger seat with a text from an unknown number.

I picked it up and read the three lines on the screen.

“You left your drawing pencils in the driveway.

Clean up your trash.”

I deleted the message without replying and put the phone back down.