“The small wins will soon become big successes.” She read it out loud while they waited for the check to come.
“Seriously, who talks like that?” His glasses were slipping down his nose again.
She shrugged, he shook his head.
“Fortune cookies,” he said. “What do they know, anyway?”
“Not much, I suppose.”
Where had the check gone? With the waitress, of course. The real question, then, was where had the waitress gone?
He pushed his glasses back up his nose, she stared at the slip of paper in her hands. As if a cookie could tell fortunes. As if anyone could tell fortunes.
Still, it had been a good meal. That counted as a small win, right?
“Who's even talking in this scenario?” he asked. “Is it supposed to be the cookie?”
“Probably the person who wrote it.”
“If it's the cookie, wouldn't the fortune be more like, 'Hey there, don't eat me!'?”
“You're assuming the cookie is sentient.”
“Wait, you think someone wrote this?”
“Someone came up with the idea. Someone else wrote it. Actually, a machine, I'd guess.”
“But not a sentient machine?”
“Probably just one that spits out whatever the input is.”
That made sense, in a trivial sort of way. It was less satisfying than the food but more satisfying than the service. Where had she gone?
He glanced over his left shoulder. Nope, not there. Strange, the entire place had grown quiet. In fact, they were the only ones in the restaurant. There wasn't even any noise coming from the kitchen. Was there even a kitchen?
“You notice anything unusual?” he asked.
She looked around. “I don't see anything.”
“I guess we don't have to pay.”