Dear Instantgram

A few weeks pass, and I finally cash a check with the name Carson Major on it for two million dollars.

Two. Million. Dollars.

I don't tell a soul.

I don't even spend the money at first. I just stare at my bank account like it's gonna disappear if I blink too hard.

I check it in the morning. I check it before bed. Hell, I even check it while I'm sitting on the toilet.

I think to myself, Carson, you've officially lost your damn mind.

The funny thing is, I still go about my normal routine. I drink my stale coffee, watch my old square TV, and occasionally greet the roaches.

"Morning, fellas. Rent's due on the first."

They don't respond. Rude.

Mr. Brown doesn't seem impressed either. I tell him we're rich now, and he just stares at me like I'm supposed to feed him.

Ungrateful little guy.

Eventually, I realize that having two million dollars and continuing to live in an apartment where the ceiling occasionally attacks me is probably not the smartest financial decision.

So, I start looking for a house.

Now, I've never bought a house before. Hell, I've barely bought furniture before. My dining room table came from somebody's front yard.

The first time I walk into a nice house, I'm scared to touch anything. The floors are shiny, the kitchen is huge, and there's a bathroom bigger than my old closet.

I think to myself, Damn, even the toilet has a better living situation than I did.

A few weeks later, I finally buy my own house and a nice car.

Don't ask me what kind of car. All I know is it starts without me having to beg, and that's good enough for me.

And of course, Mr. Brown comes with me.

The first thing he does is find a sunny spot by the window and fall asleep.

Must be nice.

But I also know what it's like to have nothing. I left home at sixteen, and there were plenty of nights when I didn't know how I was gonna make it.

So, I decide to donate some of the money to foster kids, runaways, and people facing homelessness.

I can't fix everybody's problems, but maybe I can make life a little easier for someone else.

And despite everything that's happened, there's still one thing I can't figure out.

Who gave me that lottery ticket?

Was it the two dudes in the truck? The man in the gray coat? God?

I still don't know.

But whoever you are, if you're reading this, thank you.

I promise I'll do good with it.

And don't worry, I still eat SunChips.

Stay tuned.

— Carson Major, clocking out of Instantgram.