the dissident frogman · time to take sides

I had my first — and so far, only — fortune cookie in London.

And it was empty.

I kid you not. While every other guests at the table enjoyed their ticky-tacky Chinese suggestion of a vague probability wrapped in a hazy possibility, I had nothing. Zilch. Nada. No fortune in my cookie⁽¹⁾, just the fragments of that rather dull biscuit in my hand.
But you know what? Passed the first moment of slight disappointment — I remember mumbling something along the line of "Gee, great. Story of my life" — I actually looked upon it as a cool, well, "sign".

I decided that the only cosmic signification I would squeeze out of the incident was that for me, luck was not a factor. Nothing is written. My life does not depend on the positions of some faraway celestial body on the day and time I was born. Everything and anything is possible.

Hey, starting with a new business idea. The Rationalist cookie⁽²⁾.

I mean, I can make a better profit by saving on the production costs. No wacky prediction ticket to roll inside the damn pastry.

I bake you a cookie, you make your own chance⁽³⁾.