You knew I couldn’t do it, didn’t you? Stop talking, I mean. You were right…as you always are.
I have to tell you one more send-off story. Late last night, I felt hungry so I drove over to what I call “The Working Man’s Chinese Food Place”. It’s stuck in a little storefront corner of an old strip center not far from me. I eat there once or twice a week regardless of how I am dressed. I only eat a plate of steamed rice with a mound of Colonel Joe (or whoever he is) chicken. Nothing else except a glass of water to wash it down. They know me. Last night, the owner whom I can only barely understand, told me I had been missing for a whole week. I bet they thought I was dead. He brought a little dish with two bacon-wrapped shrimp for me to try. He’s never done that before. I wondered if he sensed my little adventure.
I never take the cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie that always sits on top of the cheque in the little brown plastic tray. Last night, I did. I was thinking of my adventure and what to call it. As a private joke, I cracked open the cookie to find whatever wisdom the Master might offer the Tadpole. There was nothing in it. Absolutely nothing. Not even a roach.