Phil hit every bug on the drive from the office. By the time he made it home, the windshield was a mess of smeared insects. There was no wiper fluid, but he managed to avoid driving Elliot’s car off a cliff, though by the end he was peering through a few inches of semi-clear glass. He pulled into his driveway and cringed at the sound of breaking glass. Even with supernatural bad luck, he didn’t see how it was possible to run over three separate bottles and a rusty nail, flattening all four tires.

He walked very carefully across his lawn. Somehow, he managed to step in dog crap anyway. Twice. He left his shoes on the porch.

The card wasn’t where Phil had left it. He searched all over the house for it, stubbing his toes on every piece of furniture before slipping on a new pair of shoes. He checked under the couch cushions, in every drawer. He looked in the refrigerator, behind the entertainment center, and in the trash.

He couldn’t find it. He gave up after an hour.

Phil sat on the couch and stared at the phone. What kind of god didn’t have a prayer? It was a little old-fashioned but a lot harder to lose than a business card. Phil pulled out his wallet and checked it. He’d already checked it a dozen times, but he didn’t have any other ideas.

The card fell into his lap. He questioned if it had been there the whole time and it’d just been his bad luck to not see it until now. Or had it materialized in his wallet after his god had deemed that Phil had suffered enough?

The phone rang for about twenty seconds before someone answered.