Fortune Cookie

March 28, 2012 § 2 Comments

Photo of an open fortune cookie

Photo of an open fortune cookie (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

On Tuesday night I am sitting in my favorite Chinese food restaurant and feeling particularly agitated. All around me are the engulfing yelps of suburbanites, having flocked to the hip new spot they’ve been informed of through whispers at children’s birthday parties and yoga classes. I try to enjoy my Peking Duck but the conversations around me are too nauseating to allow such a feat. Weary of the mental cul-de-sac I’ve been trapped within, I decide to skip straight to the end of my meal. I crack open the yellow-brown fortune cookie and proceed to pull out the oddly crisp paper that awaits. The back of the paper informs me that my lucky numbers are 7, 19, 31, 33, and 55. I also learn how to say bathroom, 浴室 – Yùshì. I flip the paper around and am dismayed to see that my fortune simply reads run in all lower case letters. I laugh nervously, so as not raise any suspicions, and immediately survey my surroundings. I flip the table as a distraction and make for the door as quickly as possible, knocking over several small children in the process. An empty street greets me beyond the red door of Sun’s Palace and I continue sprinting west bound toward Highbury Square. A short number of blocks later I stop in the middle of an intersection at 32nd street and look back to the east. I expect to see a loud flash or a mushroom cloud or a pack of wolves or an angry albino man with a machete or some other indication of terror that I narrowly avoided. Instead, I find nothing but the realization that my desert has misled me. As I stand embarrassed and still hungry underneath the light a of a single flickering lamp-post, I am ambushed by a horde of passing zombies creeping up on me from behind. I manage to fight off the first two with wildly thrown punches, but their sheer number overwhelms me and I succumb to their claws and teeth. Watching the contents of my stomach torn apart and passed around like sacrament, some semblance of my head manages to glance back down the road I traveled to this hellish end. In the distance I see a happy family walking out of the restaurant. They seem full and satisfied. I attempt to scream for assistance but my jaw is no longer attached to my face. The eager family piles into their 11-passenger luxury motor car and head back toward their suburban sprawl neighborhood. I pity them.

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