She seldom scores.
Six weeks of throwing rocks, stones, smallish pebbles, mis-shapen eggs of concrete, broken shingles, buttons, fragments of tile, and snapped, worn-smooth bottlenecks into a small black bucket have told me that I am never going to win the carnival game.
I don't need to throw a flimsy, plastic dart at an under-inflated balloon to miss the shot. Or launch an over-inflated basketball towards a too-small hoop to familiarise myself with failure.
Sometimes the bucket is close by, occasionally it's far away but the result seldom changes; I nearly always miss. Strangely, this doesn't bother me and I smile either way. It's good to know that if i absolutely had to bet, my money would probably be on the other guy.
I
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