Setting:
A snowy Moscow bus stop. Yura and Dima, two longtime friends in their 30s, are waiting for their bus, bundled up in scarves, chatting over steaming coffee in paper cups.
Yura (wide-eyed, holding up a ticket):
“Dima! Look! 246246! The first three digits add up to 12, the last three—also 12! It’s a lucky ticket!”
Dima (taking a sip of coffee):
“Oh no. Here we go again. Please don’t say you’re going to eat it.”
Yura (grinning proudly):
“Of course I am! That’s what you do with a lucky ticket. You eat it for good luck. My babushka swore by it. And last time I ate one, I found a 500 ruble note on the street the very next day!”
Dima (raising an eyebrow):
“Coincidence, Yura. Not causation. You probably drop 500 rubles more often than you find it.”
Yura (tearing a corner off the ticket):
“You and your logic. Don’t ruin the magic. People have believed this for decades. It’s tradition!”
Dima (smiling):
“People used to believe smoking cured asthma too. Doesn’t make it true. Besides, if eating paper brought good luck, recycling bins would be sacred shrines.”
Yura (chewing dramatically):
“Mmm…luck-flavored cellulose.”
Dima (laughing):
“You know there’s zero scientific evidence for this, right? It’s all pattern recognition. Your brain loves symmetry and attaches meaning to it. If the numbers were 123321, you’d be convinced the universe is speaking to you.”
Yura:
“Exactly! It is speaking to me. Through buses and papercuts.”
Dima:
“But what about all the unlucky things that happened to you after eating a lucky ticket? Like when you tripped over your own shoelace on that icy sidewalk?”
Yura:
“That wasn’t bad luck. That was just me being clumsy. But remember when I passed that exam I forgot to study for?”
Dima:
“You also happened to sit next to Katya, who whispered all the answers.”
Yura (smirking):
“Maybe Katya was the real lucky charm. I should’ve eaten her exam sheet too.”
Dima (chuckling):
“Yura, if luck were edible, I’d be baking it into cookies, not digesting bus tickets.”
Yura:
“You’re missing out. Life needs a little superstition—just a sprinkle. Like salt. Even if it doesn’t do anything, it makes things taste better.”
Dima:
“And too much salt gives you high blood pressure. Like when you ate that metro ticket and got fined.”
Yura:
“Hey, that was different. That wasn’t a lucky one. That was just… pre-chewed luck.”
Dima (smiling and shaking his head):
“Alright, eat your cardboard snack. But one day, I’m going to print out a fake lucky ticket and hide it in your sandwich. We’ll see how magical it tastes then.”
Yura (grinning):
“As long as it’s symmetrical, I’ll risk it.”
Dima:
“I swear, if your appendix ever bursts, I’ll bet it’s from years of ingesting bus stubs.”
Yura:
“And if it doesn’t, I’ll say it’s because of them.”
(Bus pulls up, brakes squealing. Yura hops on triumphantly while Dima just shakes his head, amused.)
Science Vs Superstition 
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