By Prospero Dae
He always considered himself lucky. So he coasted easily through life. He’d lose a job but soon after tumble onto another. One morning Felicity, in the ecstatic thrall of a messy nosebleed, spoke to him erratically: “Boniface, I’m sick of your moth-eaten coat. Take it and leave this bug-infested flat or I’ll trample all over you.”
Boniface took the hint and left. He soon fell on hard times. Years passed and the destitution grew. Now he was sixty and gaunt.
Then, looking for bread crumbs, he found a penny. He was still lucky. But he had wasted his life.