Chapter 3

It will come as no surprise to most of the readers that this is not only fiction but bald faced lies. The author has been known to stretch the truth past breaking. He is fully aware that Monster Millions is his own creation and does not exist in reality. He is also cognizant of the fact that this an alternate reality. The names might be real ... the people are not. If your name is in here ... it’s not you ... any of you.

Joy is my sometimes wife. Depending on my state of residence she is common law. (Residing in the same house ... children ... coitus ... checking in to a rent facility as man and wife ... it all depends on the state.) Remember I complained about house payments? I never live in the same house long enough to buy it. I travel. If I’m in the US I rent in the locality I write about. Joy rides along. If ... like I was at present ... I am on assignment ... Joy doesn’t come. Well ... she probably does ... but it’s not my doing. That may be the reason our children don’t resemble me.

When I mentioned that I needed to get to Puerto she said no.

Probably... (there’s that word again ... I use it a lot ... probably because I don’t know) ... the reason she said no is because I didn’t tell her about the lottery. What? You think I’m insane? You may be right, I may be crazy. I know I’d be broke and sitting on some park bench where another broke bum usually sleeps ... that would be after I sold my equipment for whisky money.

So ... I plodded along mostly living in whatever temple the Archaeologists are uneathing. During the day no one notices the ghosts.

They got used to me.

Finally, free of the Geographic and becoming quite knowledgeable about Mayan ruins in the process ... and excavating ... and ... well ... when they couldn’t run me off the residential whisps told me where ‘things of importance,’ archaeologically wise, were ... and I dug them up ... much to the chagrin of the ‘there’s nothing there’ professor, ‘and quit wasting my time,’ pit boss.

Oh yes ... I never got credit for the artifacts.

Finished with the dig and run off by the government guards, I pilfered gas for the phaeton and drove to the coast. I managed to sign on as crew aboard a sailing yacht and eventually ... on the last day of eligibility ... redeemed my winnings.

“Where have you been?” asked the Lottery director.

“Out.”

“Doing?”

“Nothing of importance. Gimme my check.” I was very short of patience and rather long on temper.

I was sailboat tan and unkempt ... shoulder length flyaway hair and huge beard. They took my picture, “the people have the right to know.” “Tell us about yourself.”