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A solo dinner at Hana tonight with a nice bowl of chirashi and the New Yorker.

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Fortunes lined the walls upstairs. We had one in our doorbell frame for years but just noticed it was missing the other day.

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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.

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I have just adjusted my rising time, to my bitter early morning regret. Mornings are for people that underestimate sleep.