Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster strolled the sidewalk on their way back to Shawn's apartment. They were recently come from a confrontation with the ice cream man and in their hands they held their booty: A strawberry shortcake bar for Gus and a double dip of pineapple ice cream for Shawn. Suddenly they came to a light pole and without thinking Shawn moved around it. The pole briefly came between the friends and Gus paused mid-lick to comment, "Bread and butter."

Shawn halted. "What?"

Gus stopped as well and treated him to a patient stare. "Bread and butter, Shawn. It's what you say when something comes between a couple like that. It wards off bad luck."

Shawn's face twisted in a goofy grimace. "Dude, Gus, we are not a couple!"

Gus' eyes rolled in exasperation. "A couple of people, Shawn. Now say it and let's go, Fear Factor's gonna come on and we're gonna miss it."

Shawn scoffed and started walking. "I'm not saying that."

Gus snatched his arm and spun his friend around. "Say it, Shawn," he pressed, "our luck depends on it. Remember what day it is?"

Shawn thought for a second. "Whoopi Goldberg's birthday? Tom Atkins' birthday? Come on, buddy, help me out."

Gus huffed in exasperation. "It's Friday the 13th, Shawn."

Spencer's eyes brightened. "Whaddya know, it is! And?"

"And so we're particularly susceptible to bad luck today. So say bread and butter and let's go home."

Shawn shook off Gus' arm and kept on walking. "I'm not saying it, Gus," he said when his annoyed friend caught up with him. "It's a stupid superstition and I for one refuse to succumb to the idea that phrases like bread and butter control whether or not I live to cross the street one more time." He stepped across the street as he spoke for emphasis.

Gus muttered, "Whatever, Shawn," and caught up with his friend again.

As they walked, Gus became more and more nervous, convinced that bad luck was going to come up and bite them in the tail. The constance resurgence of harbingers of bad luck didn't help matters much. "Shawn!" he hissed, pulling his friend back from a resting carriage horse stopped at a red light.

"Dude, what? I just want to pet it." Shawn reached out again to pat the animal on the neck. Gus slapped his hand and Shawn cradled it to his chest, looking hurt. "Ow, what was that for?"

"The horse is sweating, Shawn," Gus said insistently. "It's bad luck."

"Aw, man, again with the luck? Listen, there is no such thing as luck! But you know what, if it makes you feel better, we'll walk around the scary pony." The fake psychic took two steps to get around the carriage and a black kitten scampered across his path. Gus made a strangled whimpering noise and Shawn quickly amended, "Or we'll walk around the block."

They strolled back the way they had come, intending to circumvent the block to avoid all unlucky animals. Just to irk Gus, Shawn deliberately walked beneath a nearby ladder. Gus' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Shawn! That's-"

Shawn sighed and held up a hand to stop the sentence. "-bad luck, yes, I know buddy."

They walked on. Suddenly Shawn's phone rang. He looked at the number and smiled brightly. "Jules!" he greeted her, answering the call. He listened for a moment, then replied, "Not a thing, we're just walking, Gus and I. We'll get back to my apartment eventually, but Gus here has this thing about luck today and-"

Shawn was cut off and listened quietly, muttering an appropriate sound when it was needed. Gus tried not to stare at him and concentrated on not stepping on cracks in the pavement. In his hurry not to step on cracks, he accidentally squashed an innocent bystanding cricket. Burton gulped. Another sign of bad luck.

Shawn was trying to contain giggling by now. "Well...okay Jules, okay. No, I'm not laughing! I hope you find it. Sorry, we can't come help right now. I'll call- Jules, I'll call you back, okay? Okay, love you lots." He hung up the phone and laughed long and loud. Gus couldn't help laughing too, seeing Shawn laugh usually tickled him too.

"Dude," Shawn said when he recovered, "you'll never believe it. Jules is making bread today, and she got the Chief to help out. So they're making the bread, and it won't rise! Then they realize why: the Chief took off her wedding ring to cook and it got in the bread somehow! Now they're digging through the dough trying to find it. But really, Jules, baking? I mean, isn't that- Gus, what?"

His friend looked stricken. "More bad luck," he whispered dolefully. Shawn rolled his eyes. "Gus, come on, man, you've got to snap-" His phone rang again. Shawn answered it.

"Dad! Look, Gus is on this bad luck kick, so if you've killed a seagull or something, don't-" Shawn stopped mid-sentence and his eyes widened. "O-okay. Yes, I'm still coming for dinner. I'll see you then, Dad." He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Gus noticed that he avoided his gaze.

"Shawn? What?" he demanded. The fake psychic looked up at him and cautioned, "You're not gonna like this..."

"What, Shawn?"

"Dad, um, Dad accidentally killed a seagull this morning with the truck..."

"Argh!" Gus threw his hands in the air in frustration. "We might just end up dead from all the bad luck today! Doesn't that bother you, Shawn?"

Shawn was more bothered with retrieving the purse of an old woman beside him, which she had dropped. He gave it to her with a gallant smile. "Here you go, ma'am, dropped this."

She smiled back at him sweetly. "Thank you, young man. But it doesn't really matter, it's empty anyway." She showed him the contents, or lack thereof. Shawn shrugged and walked on with a wave. Gus grabbed his friend's arm in a death grip and Shawn groaned, mostly from the pain in his arm.

"Dude, it's not bad luck to give an old lady back her purse!"

"It is when the purse is empty!"

"Oh, come on!"

They finally reached the door of the apartment by their roundabout route. As Shawn fished out the keys, Gus scanned the area for any potential danger brought on by their run of bad luck symbols. All he saw was more of the same, an owl perched on the rim of a nearby trashcan, giving him the fish eye. Gus stared at it until Shawn jerked on his arm, pulling him off balance and inside the office.

Trying to recover his balance, Gus promptly tripped over a slew of junk Shawn had neglected to pick up. "Shawn!" Gus hollered from where he'd fallen over a Hot Wheels car. "Would it kill you to pick up your stuff every now and then?"

Shawn emerged from the bedroom and padded over to where his friend had fallen. "Sorry," he apologized and hauled Gus to his feet. He then began to pick up his things. Most of the small stuff was swept under the couch. A pair of shoes were placed on the table. A hat was thrown onto the bed. An umbrella was opened to clear it of a dead lizard, then stored in a closet while the lizard was given an appropriate burial. A couple of pieces of silverware were juggled around before landing in the sink; a knife was dropped and picked back up on more than one occasion.

Throughout the brief cleaning spree, rife with bad luck, Gus grew more and more concerned. Finally he had enough and went to lay down on the bed. He tried not to think about all the bad luck they had coming.

He could still hear Shawn rattling around the kitchen. A light clink and a quiet curse told him Shawn had probably just turned over the salt shaker. He would probably forget to throw it over his shoulder, too. A louder curse accompanied Shawn's revelation that the milk had curdled. The final straw came when Shawn moved into the bathroom and knocked a hand mirror off the counter. Gus watched it fall in slow motion, knowing what was coming. It hit the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.

Shawn yelped over the loss of the mirror. Gus, quite calm, sat up on the bed and told him, "That's it. I'm going home. I'm going to hole up in my bedroom and watch TV until this day is over! I'm not sure it's possible to earn any more bad luck today, but if there's a way, you'll find it. I don't want any more bad luck and you seem to attract it. So goodbye, Shawn."

"Gus, your TV's broken, remem-ber..." Shawn trailed off when he poked his head into the room and saw Gus with one leg swung over the side of the bed. Hazel eyes stared unbelievingly until Gus demanded, "What, Shawn?"

The other man burst into laughter and pointed at Gus' foot. Gus stared down at it, uncomprehending. Then he realized which foot he had put out of bed first.

The left one.

"Shawn!"