"Well, no one really knows, do they? Fog of war and all..." he said, trailing off to watch the waitress measure out a portion of wine for his approval, which was given with a curt and faintly lurid smile. "Chance cannot be factored out, try as we might, and so we shouldn't expect it. It just strikes me as improper to lose faith over a little... friction."
He sipped on his wine, eyes falling on the slender backside of the waitress as she subtly moved away.
"Possibly," I said, suddenly feeling less than interested in things. "Certainly your argument has the virtue of forgiving its own flaws. But... scatter enough leaves and eventually you'll see a pattern and from that pattern you may divine a sign and it's not impossible that sign may seem to point to an actual event - but only a fool would then choose to put his trust in the scattering of leaves."
