Setting: A sunny afternoon at a café in Valencia. Two friends, Lucía (the superstitious one) and Carlos (the rational thinker), are sipping café con leche and enjoying churros.
Lucía: (excitedly waving a lottery ticket) ¡Carlos! Look what I got! A Décimo from that shop in Sort where they sold the El Gordo winner three times in ten years!
Carlos: (chuckling) Again? Lucía, I thought we agreed last time: luck doesn’t have a memory.
Lucía: ¡Bah! You and your logic. The universe remembers, Carlos. That shop is blessed or something. There’s a reason it’s called “La Bruja de Oro”—The Golden Witch! Doesn’t that give you goosebumps?
Carlos: It gives me goosebumps because people queue up for hours in December in the freezing cold just to buy from a place with good marketing. Not magic—marketing.
Lucía: Pfft. Marketing doesn’t explain how that little village with fewer people than this café keeps churning out winners. Three times, Carlos. Three!
Carlos: OK, listen. Imagine every lottery ticket is like a grain of rice in a paella. The ones from Sort are the same as the ones from down the street in Ruzafa. It’s random. Just because you found a mussel in one bite doesn’t mean the next bite will have another.
Lucía: But wouldn’t you prefer to take your bite from where someone already got a mussel? It feels… lucky.
Carlos: That’s called the gambler’s fallacy, amiga. Like believing if red came up three times on the roulette wheel, black must be next. The odds don’t care about the past. They’re indifferent. Cold. Heartless. Like my ex.
Lucía: laughs Still bitter, huh?
Carlos: Not bitter. Just statistically informed.
Lucía: OK, Mr. Numbers. But riddle me this: My aunt Pepa bought a ticket from the Madrid station in 2018—boom, €10,000. The next year, she bought from the same stall—bam, €1,000. Coincidence?
Carlos: Definitely. I mean, two wins out of how many losing tickets? Confirmation bias. You’re remembering the hits and ignoring the 98% of the time when nothing happened.
Lucía: You know, you could stand to believe in something mysterious once in a while. Not everything has to be graphs and probabilities.
Carlos: I believe in mystery. Like how you always lose your keys right when we’re in a rush. But buying from a “lucky” place thinking it increases your chances? That’s like trying to catch lightning twice by standing on the same mountain with a metal rod.
Lucía: (smirking) But if someone did get struck twice, you’d have to consider the mountain’s potential, right?
Carlos: Or consider they need better life choices.
Lucía: Fair. But tell me this—if it really doesn’t matter, why do you always get so worked up about where I buy my tickets?
Carlos: Because I care about your money! You paid €20 for that ticket, and you could’ve bought two from the kiosk right next to your house. Same odds, no hype surcharge.
Lucía: But where’s the fun in that? Half the joy is the story—“This ticket came from the legendary shop in Sort.” It’s romantic! Like Hemingway meets consumer optimism.
Carlos: laughs Now that I respect. If you’re buying for the drama and the dream, fine. Just don’t pretend it’s science.
Lucía: Deal. I’ll be the dreamer. You be the spreadsheet. But when I win, you’re still taking me to Mallorca.
Carlos: Only if you promise not to say the sand is “luckier” on certain beaches.
Lucía: No promises.
(They both laugh, and the scene fades out with a toast of churros clinking like champagne glasses.)
End of Scene.
Science Vs Superstition 
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