The flannel seen better days. Once a proud red-and-black plaid, it had been worn, washed and stretched into something more many than cozy. Sam found it in a thrift store, crumpled on a clearance rack. It smelled like old regret.

The first time he wore it, the sky opened, drenching him in unexpected rain. The second time, he tripped on an uneven sidewalk and scrapped his knee. By the third time is coffee lid mysteriously popped off and soaked his jeans. That is when he started to suspect the flannel was cursed. Still, Sam couldn’t bring himself to ger ride of it. The flannel was soft, familiar-bad luck woven into every fiber. He wore it on a first date that ended with his car battery dying. He wore it to work and got a surprise layoff. Even the dog refused to lay on his lap when he wore the flannel. After everything Sam was on his last straw and sat down for dinner. An entire bowl of hot soup went down directly onto his lap. Sam sighed and tossed the flannel into the donation bin.

The next day, the sun shone brighter. A job offer came through. His coffee stayed in his cup. Somewhere, in another thrift store, the flannel waits for its next victim.