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The hitman groaned inwardly, placed the “fortune” in his pocket, and slowly finished his sweet and sour chicken. No last name, no location, but he knew exactly who they were talking about. The rain outside had let up a little but not completely. He lit a cigarette and started walking towards the west side of town. He had a job to do. He had to go kill a friend.
Haha you are in my fortune cookie
Johnathan, as in Jonathan Frakes?
No. Not this time. It never happened. It’s a total fabrication.
If you have a cat named “Garfield”, you are in big trouble.
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