Golden lanterns swing from the ceiling above bamboo tables draped in red velvet. The tables are placed around the figure of a laughing Buddha. His hands grasp his distended belly as if he is telling me the secret to Nirvana is to eat more General Tso’s chicken. I’m no expert on religion, so who am I to ignore this sign from the enlightened one? 3 trips to the buffet later, and I can almost feel the chicken lo mein winding through my intestines. I unbutton my pants and set my hands atop my bloated stomach. Buddha never told me enlightenment would be so uncomfortable…

A petite woman approaches my table. Her dark hair is slicked back into a tidy chignon that is held together by jade chopsticks. Her smile causes her almond eyes to crease even more, and her brown irises are barely visible from beneath her eyelids. She places my check on the right-hand corner of the table and weighs it down with fortune cookies. “Take your time.” She walks away. There is something enchanting about the way her qipao brushes the floor.

I won’t eat the cookies… I’ll just read my fortune… Yeah, right. I break open the golden wafer, and pull out a smooth slip of paper. “At the corner of East 114 Street and Pleasant Avenue, the love of your life waits. Go quickly.” I pop a piece of the cookie in my mouth. It’s stale. If they can’t be trusted to provide fresh cookies, how can I trust this fortune? On one hand, I really don’t want to die alone. On the other hand, this location is entirely out of the way. My article deadline is fast approaching, and I’m not quite done procrastinating that yet. This detour could kill a good 30 minutes.

I lay a wad of cash on top of my check, and pull on my leather jacket. This night is as close to perfect as you get in New York City. You can see a handful of stars, and the wind is warm. There is barely a prostitute in sight.

I walk briskly, accidentally bumping arms with strangers. It’s as if the wind is leading me to my location. I pass street sign upon street sign until the one I’ve been looking for looms into view. Something inside me screams with childlike glee, “I’m h-” I stumble forward and catch myself with my hand. A girl had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to pull up her sock… She must be new. She stands up, her blonde hair falling in ringlets around her red face.

“I-I am sorry,” she says in a cute southern drawl. Her eyes are hazel, and it appears as if the neon lights were mixed together to create them.

“Oh… That’s alright.” I slip my hand into my pocket and draw out a small plastic package. “Fortune cookie?”