Wealthy Man Mocks Beggar at Supermarket — Story of the Day

In a reckless pursuit of an even greater fortune in Vegas after I won the Lotto, I lost everything. But a later encounter with a poor woman I once wronged offered me a path to redemption.

As I entered the supermarket, the chill of the air conditioning greeted me, a change from the warm late afternoon sun outside. My leather jacket, more for style than necessity, caught the attention of some shoppers as I navigated past the aisles of groceries.

I was there for one thing — a Lotto ticket. It wasn't about need, but the thrill of chance, the allure of a possible windfall that chance promised.

The queue at the checkout was small, people waiting with their selections. However, patience had never been my strong suit. Why wait when you didn't have to?

Holding the Lotto ticket firmly, I bypassed the line, heading straight for the cashier, my actions fuelled by a sense of entitlement that had become second nature to me.

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"Excuse me," a voice called out from behind. Turning, I saw a woman, a baby cradled against her chest, looking at me with urgency and hope. "I was here first, and I really need to get going. My baby needs to eat."

Her plea, filled with an underlying urgency, seemed merely an inconvenience to me. "I'm just buying this," I said, holding up the ticket as if it were a golden ticket that excused my intrusion. "It'll just take a second."

Yet, she persisted, her voice reflecting a deep concern. "Please, it's important. I need to buy formula, and this is all the money I have," her hands tightly gripping a crumpled bill.

I couldn't help but chuckle at her request, a reflex to what I deemed an insignificant hindrance. "Well, we all have our needs, don't we? Perhaps you should have thought twice about having a baby if you can't even afford to feed it," I remarked, turning my focus back to the cashier, effectively sidelining the woman and her needs as a mere blip in my day.

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The cashier, a young woman, wore an expression torn between empathy for the mother and acceptance of the situation, barely meeting my eyes before looking away. She accepted my $5 bill with a moment's hesitation, quickly processing my purchase.

It would take a considerable amount of time for me to recognize the full impact of my actions, to see beyond my narrow perspective and understand the interconnectedness of our actions.

But at that moment all I felt was the adrenaline of the gamble, the mesmerizing allure of fate that temporarily overshadowed a simple, human request for kindness that I had so easily dismissed.

In the lingering silence that followed my dismissal of the woman's plea, I turned my attention to the Lotto ticket in my hand. Why wait to discover my fate?

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With a shrug, I used the edge of a coin to scratch off the metallic covering, revealing the numbers beneath. It was a habit, a ritual almost, performed without expectation. Yet, as the digits came into view, aligning with the winning numbers posted above the cashier's station, a rush of disbelief surged through me.

"I won," I said, astonished, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I actually won!" The numbers matched perfectly — a $5 million prize, an amount that seemed as unreal as the situation unfolding.

The woman, still holding her baby, paused to look at me, her expression one of disbelief. The checkout girl, momentarily forgotten in my sudden turn of fortune, stared at the ticket, then at me, her eyes wide.

"Five million!" I repeated, louder this time, turning to face the onlookers, a grin spreading across my face. The store, a mundane backdrop to our daily lives, had become the stage for this dramatic turn of events.

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People stopped and turned, drawn by the commotion. Whispers and murmurs of excitement and envy filled the store. I couldn't help but flaunt the ticket, waving it in the air like a trophy. "Looks like luck is on my side today!"

The woman with the baby, her need momentarily eclipsed by the spectacle of my win, watched with a complex expression. Was it envy, disbelief, or something else that shadowed her features?

In the buzz of whispered speculation and thinly veiled envy that filled the supermarket, the woman stepped up to me. The desperation earlier masked by a veneer of hope now sharpened into resolve.

"Congratulations on your win, sir!" she said, the sincerity in her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. "But please, perhaps you could spare a little now for my baby's formula? It's all I came here for."

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Her request, simple and heartfelt, should have tugged at any strand of decency within me. Yet, in that moment, flush with victory and the intoxicating sense of invincibility that fortune bestows, I found myself retreating behind a wall of hollow philosophies.

"I wish I could help, really," I lied, the ease with which the falsehood slipped from my lips surprising even me. "But you see wealth is about more than just money. It's about making the right choices at the right time. Today, my choice paid off."

Her eyebrows knitted together, confusion and hurt flickering across her face. "But you just won five million dollars, and I'm asking for a fraction of that to feed my child."

I laughed. "Life doesn't work that way. If I start giving money away to everyone who asks, where does it end? No, it's better to teach people to fish, so to speak, than to hand them the fish."

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The checkout girl and a few of the onlookers exchanged glances, their expressions mingling disbelief with disdain. It was clear that my words, meant to deflect and defend, only served to highlight the chasm between empathy and indifference.

The woman took a step back, her eyes meeting mine for a moment longer. "I'm not asking for a lifetime of handouts, just a little kindness."

I shrugged, the ticket in my pocket a talisman against the discomfort her words provoked. "Kindness doesn't pay the bills, unfortunately. Best of luck to you, though."

The checkout girl offered a tight smile. "Congratulations," she said, though her voice lacked genuine enthusiasm. The warmth that might have accompanied such a win was absent, I suppose chilled by the manner of my victory and the disregard I had shown moments before.

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As I left the store, the ticket secured in my pocket, I was acutely aware of the eyes that followed me. Some were filled with amazement, others with judgment. I had won, yes, but at what cost?

The fleeting thrill of victory couldn't quite mask the undercurrent of unease that followed me out the door.

The fresh air outside did little to dispel the complexity of emotions swirling within me. I had become a millionaire in a moment, yet the faces of those I left behind, particularly the woman and her baby, lingered in my mind.

I had flaunted my win without a thought for those around me, caught up in the euphoria of sudden wealth.

***

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The neon lights of Las Vegas painted the night with vibrant colors, each beam declaring the city's relentless energy. I arrived, the thrill of newfound wealth pulsing through me, as the promise of the Lotto ticket became a tangible reality far beyond its humble beginnings.

My steps felt light, almost buoyant, as I navigated through the crowded streets, drawn irresistibly to the electric heart of this labyrinth — the casino.

Inside, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation and longing, a dynamic that fueled the perpetual dance of hope and despair under the opulent chandeliers.

I was there to chase the thrill, to ride the wave of my recent win into whatever fortunes or missteps awaited, moving through the crowd, my new suit jacket brushing against people each absorbed in their own quests for glory.

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At the roulette table, I met Claire. She had an almost ethereal presence, a calm point amidst the bustling activity of clinking chips and spinning wheels.

Her attention to the game was unwavering, yet her eyes sparkled with a combination of focus and amusement. I was drawn to her, compelled by a force that made my usual reserve melt away in the warmth of her presence.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, indicating the space beside her at the table.

She turned, her smile welcoming me. "By all means. Luck seems to favor the bold tonight."

I placed my bet, the chips feeling inconsequential in my hands, just parts of a larger game I was only beginning to understand. The wheel spun, a whirlwind of chance that briefly held our futures in its path.

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Then, as if by destiny, the ball settled on my number. A collective cheer rose from those around us, a sound of envy and congratulations that faded into the background as Claire turned to me, her smile widening.

"Seems like you're a man touched by luck," she commented, her voice blending with the casino's din.

I laughed, the sound ringing with genuine amusement. "Or perhaps luck is a lady tonight," I replied, nodding towards her with a twinkle in my eye.

Our conversation flowed effortlessly, marked by laughter and shared stories, drawing us into a world of our own. Claire was captivating, her stories weaving a rich tapestry that drew me further into her world. It seemed as if Vegas, with all its glitz and shadows, had predestined our meeting, two spirits united by the whims of fate.

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As the evening progressed, the attraction of the roulette table waned, our attention captured by the excitement of each other's company. Claire's hand in mine felt like the right pieces coming together, a connection as surprising as it was fitting.

"Let's see where luck leads us next," she suggested, her eyes shining with the promise of adventure.

Caught up in the euphoria of victory and Claire's enchanting company, I followed, ready to discover the new adventures that lay ahead. The neon lights now seemed like guides on a path not defined by its destination but by the shared experiences with Claire, leading us into the unknown.

The allure of Las Vegas' gambling floors had initially seemed endless, a maze of opportunity and exhilaration. Claire and I found ourselves drifting from one game to another, intoxicated not just by the liquor that flowed freely but by the rush of our earlier success at the roulette table.

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Each new venture promised a thrill, a chance to defy odds that increasingly favored the house. Yet, as the night wore on, our streak of luck dimmed, the chips dwindling from our hands like sand through an hourglass.

With every loss, we sought solace in the bottom of our glasses, the sharp taste of alcohol a bitter reminder of fortunes turning. The vibrant energy that had once drawn us together now seemed to fray, leaving behind a restless desperation.

It was a slow erosion of hope, punctuated by laughter that rang hollow and cheers that echoed the ghosts of missed chances.

In a bid to recapture the magic of our first encounter, we found ourselves back at the roulette table where fate had first intertwined our paths. There, amidst the familiar sights and sounds, a spark reignited.

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With each spin of the wheel, with each number called, our fortunes began to turn once more. The chips stacked in front of us grew, a tangible symbol of luck returning to favor the daring — or perhaps the foolhardy.

It was in this moment of resurgence, as we toasted to renewed fortunes, that Vincent approached. An imposing figure, his presence commanded attention, his suit impeccable, and his eyes sharp, missing nothing. He watched us with an intensity that seemed to measure, to calculate.

"Seems you two have quite the knack for this," Vincent remarked, his voice smooth, each word carefully chosen. "Unless there is something else going on here?" he added menacingly, chilling me to the bone. Did he suspect I was cheating? What was the undercurrent of his statement? I thought, panicking.

"I would like to ask you to follow me, please," Vincent added. Clearly he was a bouncer of some sort and I was loath to disobey such a commanding presence. "I have a few questions for you both," he went on to say as Claire and I stood up and followed meekly.

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"Ever wonder what real gambling feels like?" he asked as we crossed the casino floor in fear.

We looked at each other, intrigue piqued despite the caution that Vincent's demeanor inspired. "Real gambling?" Claire echoed, curiosity crossing the fear in her eyes.

Vincent smiled. "The high rollers' room. It's where fortunes are made, where the stakes are as high as the rewards." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be. "Care to try your luck?"

The decision was reckless, spurred by the intoxicating blend of relief, alcohol, victory, and the allure of something greater. We nodded, swept up in the momentum of our winning streak and the seductive promise of even grander wins.

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Vincent led us through the casino, past the bright lights and the din of the crowd, to a door guarded by security. With a nod from him, we were ushered into the high rollers' VIP room, a world apart from the cacophony outside. Here, the air was charged with a different kind of electricity, one that spoke of immense wealth and even greater risks.

The room hummed with an understated opulence, the tables fewer but the stakes visibly higher. The occupants carried themselves with an air of nonchalance, their casual demeanor belying the tens of thousands of dollars at play with each roll of the dice, each turn of a card.

Claire and I took our places at a roulette table, the wheel's polished wood and the gleaming chips a stark reminder of the leap we had just taken.

With Vincent watching, a silent sentinel of the high stakes world we had entered, we placed our bets. The wheel spun, a vortex of potential that for a moment, held not just our chips, but our breaths, our hopes, our very fates in its grasp.

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As the ball settled, clattering to a stop, a cheer broke from our lips. We were winning again, the rush of victory amplified by the high stakes, the luxury that surrounded us, and the danger that lurked in the gamble we had embraced.

In the high rollers' room, under Vincent's watchful eye, we danced with fortune, oblivious to the perilous edge upon which we teetered.

The air in the high rollers' room was thick with anticipation, a tangible tension that clung to every surface, every breath. Claire's hand found mine under the table, her grip both reassuring and expectant.

The night had evolved into a whirlwind of daring bets and unexpected victories, each win emboldening us further, blurring the lines between audacity and folly.

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Our pile of chips had grown, a mountain of luck and chance that stood as a monument to the night's escapades. Claire, her eyes alight with the thrill of the game and perhaps the bourbon, leaned close, her words a whisper against the backdrop of hushed conversations and the soft clatter of chips.

"Let's make it interesting," she suggested, a mischievous spark in her gaze. "One final bet. If we win, we make this a night we'll never forget."

The idea was ludicrous, a product of the intoxicating blend of success and alcohol that had fueled our decisions thus far. Yet, in the moment, it seemed the only logical conclusion to the evening's madness. I found myself nodding, caught up in the rush, the adrenaline, the sheer impossibility of it all.

"All or nothing," I agreed, my voice steadier than I felt. "And if we win, marry me."

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The proposal hung between us, a wish as impulsive as the bets that had brought us to this point. Claire's laughter rang out, clear and bright, her agreement sealed with a nod and a kiss that promised more than any vow could.

Vincent, ever the silent observer, raised an eyebrow at our declaration but said nothing. Instead, he gestured to the dealer, signaling the commencement of our final gamble.

The room seemed to hold its breath as we placed our chips, the entire mountain pushed to the center of the table on a single number. The wheel spun, a blur of color and possibility, as time stretched, each second a lifetime of waiting, of hoping.

Then, against all odds, the ball settled. Our number! A collective gasp filled the room, followed by an eruption of applause and disbelief. Claire and I stood, our joy uncontainable, as we embraced, laughter and tears mingling in a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness.

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We had won. Not just the chips, not just the wealth that accompanied them, but a future, a promise made on the spur of the moment but felt with a depth that surpassed the fleeting thrill of gambling.

Vincent approached, a smile finally breaking through his professional facade. "Congratulations," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. "It seems fortune favors the brave after all."

The night blurred into a celebration, the gambling room's previous tension dissolving into an atmosphere of jubilation. Claire and I, in the center of it all, were buoyed by a sense of invincibility, of shared destiny that the win had sealed.

As the early morning hours approached, the casino began to quiet, the high rollers' room emptying as its patrons departed, their own nights ending in either triumph or defeat.

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But for Claire and me, the dawn marked not an end but a beginning. Our whimsical proposal, forged in the fires of chance and solidified by the unwavering belief that sometimes, was about to become fact. And then I was convinced that the most reckless decisions lead to the most extraordinary outcomes.

In the heart of Las Vegas, under the watchful eyes of fortune and fate, we had gambled on a whim and won more than we had dared to dream.

***

As dawn broke, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, the streets of Las Vegas were quiet, a change from the vibrant chaos that dominated the night. Claire and I, still riding the high of our incredible win and the surreal decision that followed, found ourselves wandering, hand in hand, through the awakening city.

The idea, once a flight of fancy fueled by victory and champagne, had solidified into a plan as tangible as the sidewalk beneath our feet. Marriage, in the most iconic of Vegas traditions — by an Elvis impersonator.

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The absurdity of it matched only by the exhilarating sense of adventure that had guided our every decision since our fortuitous meeting at the roulette table.

Vic's Chapel of Love, a quaint "establishment" nestled among the neon-lit extravagance of the casinos and the quieter, more ordinary buildings of the city, welcomed us. The sign outside, promising a union "Fit for a King," flickered intermittently, a beacon of kitschy romance in the desert morning.

Vic, the impersonator-cum-officiant, embodied the legend he emulated, from the pompadour hairstyle to the bedazzled jumpsuit. His deep voice, carrying the unmistakable drawl associated with the King of Rock 'n' Roll, greeted us warmly. "Well, well, well, if it isn't a couple of lovebirds looking to tie the knot, Vegas style."

The chapel, adorned with pictures of Elvis at various stages of his career and red velvet seats, offered a sense of intimacy amid the grandeur of its theme.

As Vic led the ceremony, his words interspersed with lyrics from Elvis's greatest hits, Claire and I exchanged vows. The rings, extravagant gold bands purchased from a 24-hour pawn shop on the way, symbolized our impromptu commitment.

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"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Vic declared, his voice booming with authority. "You may kiss the bride." And as we did, the sound of "Can't Help Falling in Love" filled the chapel, a perfect soundtrack to our unconventional union.

The ceremony was a blur of laughter, music, and vows spoken with sincerity that belied the spontaneity of our decision. As we stepped out of the chapel, now bound together in the eyes of whatever powers watched over the "city of sin", the reality of our actions began to sink in.

Yet, any second thoughts were overshadowed by the exhilarating sense of freedom, of a life unpredictable and full of possibilities. We had gambled on a whim and emerged not just with wealth but with a kindred spirit, willing to embrace the madness of the moment.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the city, transforming the neon lights into a muted backdrop, Claire and I faced the new day not just as winners of a fortune, but as partners in the most unexpected of life's adventures.

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In a city where fortunes were made and lost with the turn of a card, we had found something far more valuable — a shared journey into the unknown, sealed with a kiss and the blessing of an Elvis impersonator.

The newly minted air of matrimony, thick with promise and punctuated by the celebratory echoes of our Vegas-style nuptials, led Claire and me back into the pulsating heart of the casino.

The ever-continuous clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations blended into the background as we found ourselves at the bar, laughter spilling from us like the overflow from our brimming champagne flutes.

"Here's to us," Claire toasted, her eyes shimmering with a mischievous light that I had come to adore in the short time we'd known each other.

"To the most spontaneous decision of our lives," I added, clinking my glass against hers, the sound ringing out like a bell of triumph.

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As the day unfolded — unaware of it as we were in the forever-night dim of the casino — our celebration took on a life of its own. Each round of drinks seemed to erase the boundaries of caution, with Claire urging me on, her laughter a siren song luring me further into inebriation.

"Come on, Marcus! Keep up!" she chided playfully after downing another shot, her cheeks flushed with the night's indulgences.

I tried to match her pace, the world around me starting to blur at the edges, each laugh and touch from Claire sending me spiraling deeper into a haze.

"You're going to be the death of me," I joked, though my words slurred, barely catching up to my thoughts.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice a velvet whisper, "Only the best for you, my love. Soon we'll consummate our marriage, but just one more drink!"

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The day wore on, time becoming a fluid concept, marked only by the empty glasses that cluttered our table and the bucket of chips that we seemed to care less and less about.

Claire's encouragement never waned, her enthusiasm undimmed by the alcohol that seemed to fuel her rather than slow her down.

"Another round!" she declared, waving over the bartender with a grace that belied the amount she'd consumed.

I nodded, though the room spun with my every movement. "You're trying to drink me under the table," I accused lightly, a lopsided grin on my face.

"And you're proving to be quite the lightweight," she retorted, her laughter ringing clear and bright.

But as the day headed toward its death, my memories began to fragment, slipping away like sand through open fingers. The last thing I recall was Claire's face, her smile wide but her eyes — there was something in her eyes that didn't match the warmth of her grin.

***

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When consciousness returned to me, it did so with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The bright lights of the casino bore down on me, the cacophony of sounds assaulting my senses. I was alone at the bar, the stool beside me empty, Claire nowhere in sight.

Panic set in as I tried to stand, the room tilting dangerously. I reached for where our chips had been, finding nothing but the cold, hard surface of the bar. Empty. Everything was gone — our winnings, Claire, the future we had drunkenly envisioned together just hours before.

A bartender approached, his expression one of professional detachment. "You okay there, buddy?" he asked, eyeing me with a practiced stare.

I shook my head, trying to piece together the shards of the night. "My wife," I began, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "She was here, we were, er, celebrating."

He nodded, his expression unchanging. "Yeah, I saw. She left a while ago. Took everything with her, it looked like."

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The words hit me like a blow, each one a confirmation of the nightmare I was now living. "Did she say anything? Leave a message?" I asked, though hope was a rapidly dwindling flame within me.

The bartender shrugged. "Just said the night was a win for her, in more ways than one. Sorry, man."

As I sat there, the realization of what had transpired settled heavily on my shoulders. Claire had played the greatest gamble of the night and won, leaving me as the unwitting loser. The vows we had exchanged, the laughs, the promises — had they meant anything to her? Or was I just another bet to be won?

In the aftermath, as I tried to reconcile the whirlwind romance with its bitter end, I couldn't help but wonder if the signs had been there all along, obscured by the intoxicating blend of alcohol, victory, and desire.

Claire had shown me a side of Vegas that went beyond the glitz and glamor, a lesson learned in the harshest way possible.

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"Sir," Vincent's voice boomed, cutting through the fog of my confusion and the lingering effects of the night's excesses. His hand, firm and unyielding, clamped down on my shoulder, halting my aimless wander. "We need to talk."

The seriousness in his tone, devoid of any previous camaraderie or the slick charm of the casino official, rooted me to the spot. "Vincent, what —"

"Your wife," he interrupted, the word laced with a hint of irony, "she cashed out everything. Every last chip." He looked at me with no sympathy, a mirror reflecting the gravity of my situation back at me.

A laugh, short and devoid of humor, escaped me. "That's impossible. We, we were winning, we had —"

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"Nothing, pal. You have nothing." Vincent's interruption was clinical. "She took it all. And there's the matter of your outstanding debts — the hotel room, the bar tab."

The reality of his words hit me then, a gut punch that drained the last vestiges of hope. "There's been some mistake," I managed, the words feeble even to my own ears.

"No mistake. And you're going to settle up," Vincent stated, a finality in his voice that brooked no argument.

The ensuing exchange was a blur — a desperate plea on my part met with Vincent's unwavering demand for restitution. Arguments were made, denials voiced, but in the end, the truth was inescapable. Claire had played me as surely as she had played the tables.

With a sinking heart, I handed over my credit card, and the last of my available funds evaporated before my eyes, sucked up by the point-of-sale device Vincent brandished like a weapon.

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"Let this be a lesson to you," he said, not unkindly in the end. "Vegas can give, but it takes much more. Don't let the lights blind you to reality."

As he walked away, leaving me to absorb the weight of his words, I couldn't help but feel the fool. The illusion of quick fortunes, of easy wins, had seduced me, blinding me to the risks, to the reality of the gamble.

Claire, with her bleach-blonde hair, easy laughter and promises, had been the perfect lure, drawing me deeper into the fantasy until the harsh light of dawn — and Vincent's intervention — shattered it completely.

Now, penniless and alone, the full magnitude of my loss settled upon me. It wasn't just the money, though that stung deeply. It was the trust I had placed in Claire, in the dream I had dared to believe was real.

The city that had promised so much had taken everything, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal and the knowledge that some bets are never worth the risk.

***

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Merely a week after my dizzying fall from grace in Las Vegas, I found myself wandering the aisles of the same supermarket where my journey into folly had begun.

The bright fluorescent lights and the mundane shuffle of shoppers provided an unlikely backdrop for reflection, yet here I was, a man profoundly changed by his recent ordeals.

As I turned the corner past the shelf of canned goods, there she was — the poor girl I had snubbed: Sarah is her name. Just as before, she was managing the delicate balance of caring for her child while navigating her grocery shopping, the very picture of resilience I had ignored in my previous life of careless indulgence.

This time, her struggle seemed even more pronounced, the weight of the world visibly bearing down on her shoulders. The sight struck a chord in me, a painful reminder of the person I had been and the choices I had made.

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"I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice breaking the silence, cautious, laden with the heaviness of my regret.

She looked up, her expression one of mild surprise, tinged with a wariness that was well justified. "It's you," she said, recognizing me, though it brought no warmth with it.

I took a hesitant step forward, acutely aware of the irony of our meeting place. "I've been thinking about the last time we met here," I started, my words faltering under the weight of my sincerity. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry for not helping when you needed it."

The skepticism in her eyes was clear, but so too was the fatigue, the result of countless challenges faced alone. "It's been a tough week," she admitted, looking momentarily at the baby who remained blissfully unaware of the adults' exchange.

"Yeah, it has," I agreed, feeling the reality of my own understatement. "I learned a lot recently about what's important. And I realized I want to start making things right, starting with you."

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Reaching into my wallet, I extracted the last few bills, a meager sum that now represented so much more than its monetary value. "I know it's not much, but please, take this. I hope it can help, even just a little."

Her eyes widened slightly at the offer, a battle of pride and need playing out in a fleeting moment before she accepted the money with a nod of thanks. "Thank you, sir. This will help us get through the week."

The gratitude in her voice, simple and genuine, cut through the remnants of my former self, offering a glimpse of redemption. "I'm glad. And I'm truly sorry for the way I treated you before."

As I left the supermarket that day, the same doors that had once marked my path to destruction now felt like a gateway to a new beginning. The encounter with Sarah, brief as it was, had reinforced a lesson learned through hardship and loss: true wealth lies in our actions and their impact on those around us.

In giving what little I had to someone in need, I found a sense of peace and purpose that no amount of money could ever provide. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to face it with a heart open to the possibilities of genuine connection and the promise of a better tomorrow.

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