You don't have enough but the men make up the difference

"I got a dollar," one of the men offers, and you wince. You really hadn't wanted to be noticed by them, especially since - you risk a glance - he's still holding his magazine. 'Teens Analyzed' it says, depicting a girl like you with her butt being sorely stretched.

"Me too," says the other, and you reluctantly glance his way. He too has a magazine. This one's titled 'Teenage Gang Bangs', and again depicts a small-titted girl, this time with men in every hole and other surrounding her.

"Um, thanks," you mumble, even more desperately searching. But not matter how often you check the corners of the little purse there still isn't any more money to be found. Dammit, why couldn't you have come here before blowing your money on washing your clothes?

Sighing you count what's on the counter. Fifty cents exactly.

"I'm Bob," says one, putting his dollar beside your coins.

"I'm Jason," says the other, smacking down his dollar as well.

They both stay where they are, devouring your body with their eyes, imagining you nude - not that it would be all that difficult in your outfit, but until they started you'd half-forgotten that you're millimetres away from an indecently exposed charge.

"Can I get a ticket?" you ask the cashier, sounding almost depressed. Moments ago you were excited, certain you'd win. You're still cerain you'll get lucky, you just didn't want to get lucky with these two men who look so ragged and unkept.

"Which?" the man asks, and you reluctantly put your fingers on the counter, feeling the rough dusty wood against your palms. Not knowing anything about the different games you're at a loss which to take, but one in particular catches your eye, and your excitement returns.

"That one!" you say firmly, pointing out the ticket.

"That'll be two-fifty please," the cashier drones, holding out a hand as if the money wasn't right there on the counter. It's one of those petty acts of tyranny that clerks do that you hate. Wanting your ticket you overlook it, gathering the money, wincing at the sticky wet feeling of the bills, and plop it all into the clerk's hand. He holds out the ticket and you snatch it from him.

"Uh, can I borrow a penny?" you ask as you realize you'll have to scratch away at the top surface of the card.

"No," the clerk responds, sounding a little more animated at thwarting you.

Giving him a brief glare you look down at your nails. Thanks to Jacob having once mentioned how much he loves naturally long and sharp nails on a woman you grew them out especially for him. They're enough of a pain to maintain as it is and you're not going to risk chipping or breaking them, even if it will win you a million dollars. Or pay off your debts at the least.

"Here," Bob says, giving you something. You stare down at it, turning it over in your fingers. It looks like a black gambling chip with a golden silhouette of a naked woman. The other side has words on it that seem to have rubbed off, but you don't really want to know what it is anyway.

Using the black chip you start to rub away the grey coating, not at all sure what it is that you need for a winning ticket. Going with the same approach that led you to select this ticket you scrub away the grey coating in three different areas, becoming increasingly nervous and excited as you scratch away at it. Won't it be great to have money again? you think.

"I have no idea if I won," you say, staring at it.

"I've done this one before, let me see," Jason says, snatching the ticket from your hands and inspecting it.

"Well?" you ask, feeling giddy with the anticipation.