“Do you believe in luck,” a friend asked, hunting the ground for a four-leaf clover.
“No, but I do believe in Karma.”
“Do tell, wait– aren’t you Irish,” he asked.
“Are you saying because I’m a mutt with a touch of Irish blood that I should automatically believe in luck,” I asked.
“That’s how it works, right? Luck’o the Irish and having your lucky charms sought after,” he said in a cheery Irish accent.
“For one, that’s like saying all Asian people are samurais that ride dragons. For two, I don’t have any lucky charms.”
“It’s because tose medlin’ kids took’em,” he said in the same accent.
“Don’t push it,” I said.
“Don’t push what,” he accented. “I’m only joking man, no need to get your undies in a bunch.”
I leered at this.
“Okay,” he said speaking normally, “What about your Karma then?”
“I just think there’s finite amount of energy in the world. If we give good energy, then we have the better potential of seeing it in the future,” I said, plucking a rare five-leaf after having searched only three minutes.
“What if your shows of good intent simply make you a good person,” he asked. “What if the universe doesn’t really care that you do good or bad? What if it only wants you to simply be?”
“I guess I’m just another naive, blissful and ignorant creature floating on this giant rock with the rest of my fellow idiot brethren, doom to roam pursuing nothing until end when either the sun explodes, meteor stops by to say ‘hi’, aliens invade, or some other kind of inevitability. Until then we’re going to be twiddling our thumbs like children, daydreaming about whimsical things like luck, Karma, and picking four-leaf clovers,” I said, eyeing him intently.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “No one likes a wise-ass.”