I tend to ignore the days of the month. One day just blends into the next like a churning paddlewheel. My late Aunt Lillian, however, was hard-core superstitious. She'd toss the spilled salt over her shoulder. Never walk under a ladder. And see a black cat? She'd go nuclear. But Friday the 13th had to be her most dreaded superstition.

Is Friday the 13th, in actuality, so cursed? Well, I, the private eye writer, investigated. Judas was the 13th disciple. Apollo 13: enough said. Wasn't there a slasher movie franchise called Friday the 13th? Right, Jason. Why didn't one of the kids rip off that stupid hockey mask? Anyway, turns out Al "Scarface" Capone got busted on the 13th.

Okay, skip the trivia dump. If you're the curious sort, you can use just as well consult google or Wikipedia. But today is a Friday the 13th, and I have a ton of stuff to finish. Or I might turn into a neon toad. If my thumb drive fries again, or if my laptop goes belly up, then I'll become a true believer.

So, here's a literary toast to your prosperous, and safe, Friday the 13th.

Ed Lynskey
@edlynskey
Author of Lake Charles and Quiet Anchorage