7:32 am
Me Boyo Liquor

"What else is new?" Chance asked.

The man looked at him, not understanding what he meant, and for a moment Chance felt mean. "Why is today my lucky day?" Chance asked.

The man sighed again, his eyes downcast. "I owe you."

"Hey, I got my money back. We're cool," Chance said. He had a bad feeling in his stomach. Like something really weird was going to happen.

The large man shook his head dejectedly. "You see, Boyo's my name."

Chance didn't get it.

"You guessed my name. That grants you certain -"

"Oh, no," Chance said, shaking his head, backing away from the man, who now advanced on him. What was this, Rumpelstiltskin?

"Wishes," the man finished. "I owe you three wishes. You see -"

"Don't say it," Chance begged.

"I'm a leprechaun," the enormous Irishman concluded.

Chance cringed, and said nothing.

"You're not surprised," the other man realized. It didn't lift the severe depression that pulled down the corners of his mouth. "How did you know?"

"Like you said," Chance said uncomfortably. "I'm lucky, I guess."

"So what're your wishes?" the leprechaun asked.

Chance shook his head.

"I have to give them to you," the man told him.

"Let me think about it. I'll get back to you," Chance promised.

The leprechaun began to protest, then just jammed his hands into his pockets and sighed again, his shoulders drooping. "Take your time," he suggested, sounding exactly like Eeyore in "Winnie the Pooh." "I'll be waiting," he added.

7:34 am
Chance Harper's car

I don't want three wishes, he thought, pulling the door open. He sat down hard enough to make the aged springs creak in the protest, and slammed the door behind him, locking it and looking in the rearview mirror, worried the giant would come after him and force him to have three wishes granted.

He didn't even believe in leprechauns. But Chance knew that if such a thing could possibly exist, it was just his luck to run into one.

Now that he had money, he was going to the store. He was going to buy a nice big box of cereal and some milk so he could eat his breakfast. Finally.

7:39 am
Dr. Ann Richter's office

Chance sat in his car, looking at the building. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd gone to Dr. Richter's office. She probably wasn't even in yet. It was still pretty early. His hand lingered on the ignition key. He wanted to turn the car back on and go get something to eat, then somehow start over and have a nice day. One without mythical creatures.

He needed to hear the voice of reason. That's why he was there. He got out of the car and went into the building, which was unlocked. Chance knocked on the door to Dr. Richter's office, ready to turn away when she didn't answer.

"Chance," she said, surprised to see him.

"I didn't think you'd be here," he said, startled. Caught. Now he was really going to have to talk to her, to try to make sense of what was going on.

"Is that why you came by?" she asked, a smile playing about her lips. She pushed the door open farther. "Were you planning on coming in?"

Chance did, wordlessly plopping down on her couch. Dr. Richter leaned against her desk. He noticed she was staring at his socks. "It's a long story," he told her.

"It always is." She didn't smile. She waited, and he didn't say anything. "Come on, Chance. You didn't come all this way for nothing. What's going on?"

"Do you believe in the impossible?" he asked her, really hoping for an answer he could believe in.

"I think no one comes closer to the impossible than you," she answered truthfully, walking back behind her desk and sitting down. "I think you believe in the possibility of impossible things happening to you."

"But do you believe in it?" he pressed.

"Nothing's impossible, Chance," she answered.

He was tempted to tell her he'd met a leprechaun and guessed his name, just to see what she'd say, but he didn't. "What would you wish for, if you had three wishes?" he asked, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and facing her.

"I would want the fighting to stop. I'd want people to be at peace with themselves. I might wish to be happy. Chance..." She didn't ask him again what was going on. His eyes were unreadable, but they were dark and his entire face was troubled. He never came to see her without a reason. She didn't even know how to ask.

He shook his head, as thought trying to throw off the pall that clung to him. "I don't even know what I'd wish for," he said very quietly.

"But it's so obvious," she said, and his head came up. She saw torment in his eyes and it made her stomach form a worried knot. "Chance, you'd wish that all the bad things in your life never happened to you. I'm talking about the plane crash..."

He pressed his lips together.

"Chance, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Got anything to eat? I'm starving," he said, intentionally changing the subject.

"Coffee." She began to get up to pour him a cup.

"Never mind. Thanks, doc," he said, jumping up from the couch, his eyes fixed on the window behind her desk. Dr. Richter turned to see what was going on - whether there was a situation where he was dashing out like Superman to save the day.

All she saw was a redhead in a short skirt.

Sometimes, that was all it took. She picked up her pen and sat back down.

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