Written By Silvia

We were finishing our third bottle of beer each when the fortune cookies arrived like telegrams we could choose for ourselves. Kate reached out as the plate was still being lowered. Pete followed her hand. I should have learned then that there was no such thing as an innocent smile on Pete. He slid into fever mode almost immediately. I could almost feel him tasting the auburn down on Kate’s arm, like his eyes were little tongues.

As Kate cracked open the cookie her eyes shot like rockets aimed to destroy targets in central-Pete. I heard myself asking for another beer in lieu of a finalized tab. Can you bring it right away? There was this dry mouth and that quick-release lever sprung–the one that permits everything to continue.

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