A solo dinner at Hana tonight with a nice bowl of chirashi and the New Yorker.
Fortunes lined the walls upstairs. We had one in our doorbell frame for years but just noticed it was missing the other day.
There was a column in the New Yorker about a man who is responsible for a significant chunk of the fortunes found in American fortune cookies.
I have just adjusted my rising time, to my bitter early morning regret. Mornings are for people that underestimate sleep.