Most days I look for four leaf clovers but I haven’t found a single one since I was 9. I remember it very vividly because I dropped it in my excitement, right back into the clover patch and, swallowed and shaded by its counterparts, I never found it again. What a waste, I think now. I remember being too overcome by a desperate sadness to have many thoughts about it back then. Now I watch clover patches diligently any time I pass by, but it seems to be something that happens by accident, like discovering penicillin or finding love. One just simply stumbles upon a four leaf clover. One does not look for them.

I also remember in that same year, this time it is winter because I had to take my gloves off to do it, I drew in the dirt on someone’s van. Most probably it read ‘Imo waz ‘ere 2k6’ to immortalise my presence on that forever filthy vehicle. “But I know them so it’s fine!” I said when my mum told me off; caught me in the act, much to my embarrassment I was such an amateur. “They’re my friend’s sister’s boyfriend!” A very sturdy social connection. He obviously wouldn’t mind, mother. I’m not really sure why she got so angry, it was clearly an innocent act. Soaked only in curiosity, not in malice. She still brought down a harsh punishment. Worried it was the first step down a dark path of unforgivable behaviour, perhaps?


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