(A short story by Irene B.) Remi wasn’t superstitious, but when she realized this was date number seven, she decided to give the universe one last shot. Seven was supposed to be lucky, right? So far, though, luck had been upside down and flat on its ass. There was open-mouthed chewer Curtis, who launched a piece of moist cornbread straight from his gums and onto the edge of her bread plate. It dangled next to the very piece she’d been eager to try, but that was now ruined. Curtis had shared during a video chat that he’d had his tonsils out in his 30s, a revelation she had initially found…
