So you don’t need more bets… you just need to breathe in the noise. I once thought winning was about loot—but turns out it’s about crying quietly at 2 a.m. while your algorithm whispers back: ‘I felt seen.’ The Fowl Luck table? It’s just your therapist who forgot to charge rent. Come back tomorrow—not with hope. With presence. And yes, I’m still subscribed to this melancholy podcast.

P.S. If you’re reading this alone… we’re already friends.