I opened a fortune cookie for you yesterday. It said, "6 13 42 11." Not very profound, but then, you can't expect much from sweatshop baked goods. Had you played the lotto that day? Or was it the day before? I can't remember.
I opened a fortune cookie for you yesterday. It said, "You like Chinese food." I was drinking tea from a faux ornate cup painted blue with the ideograph for water, and the waiter brought me the cookie along with my eggdrop soup, which was odd, because I hadn't told him I wanted soup. I hadn't told him I wanted a fortune cookie, either, even though I did, but every other time they've always brought them with the check. There was no check. There was no waiter. The scene faded in tremulous arcs of light and I moved on.
I opened a fortune cookie for you yesterday. It said, "Financial good fortune is in your future." Actually, I bought a box of the things, only five dollars at the grocery store. "Are these as good as the ones I get at Ding How?" I asked the checkout clerk. "Nah," she said as she scratched her blonde cornrows, "they only put four different fortunes in those. You need to get the other brand, not this generic crap, especially if you're going to add 'in bed.'" Of course I was. But I like generic. Is Fight Club as good a movie if you substitute "raindrop" for "snowflake"? Who wants to be a unique raindrop?
I opened a fortune cookie for you yesterday. It said, "Your dearest wish will come true." Wonderful, magnificent, isn't that great? Your dearest wish. Swell. What's that? I think you know, and I think I know, but you won't tell me, and I won't admit it. Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but wishes have no place to lay their sweet heads in this modern age of facts and figures, data and polls. Every compromised relationship can be traced back to a breakdown in communication. Are we listening, or are we just being silent?
I opened a fortune cookie for you yesterday. It was blank.