Superstitious Bob constantly struck matches for good luck.
The casinos didn’t like the idea of a guy striking matches all the time, like some kind of arsonist goon from the mafia, so they threw him out.
Same with the horse track. And the nearby dog track.
The dog fighting pit regulars threatened to let their dogs at him. Dogs don’t like the sulfur from matches.
He was down to the high school snail races.
And you know what? He got along fine with those guys.
Until he spilled some salt and tossed it over his shoulder. On to the racers.

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