The Double

I was at Knaack with Ines and we’re in one of those conversations—about life, emotions, whatever—when I notice this guy across the room. He’s basically me. Not vaguely. I mean he has the exact same black Adidas shoes, the exact same jeans, that green New York shirt I’m always wearing, the belt the same way. He moves like me. He laughs like me—that dumb laugh I have. And I’m watching and waiting and sure enough, he’s picking his nose the exact same way.

I couldn’t look away. This wasn’t coincidence. This was a doppelgänger.

Only real difference: he’s blonde, and he could actually sing. That’s definitely not me.

But I was too much of a coward to go talk to him. Something said if I acknowledged it, if I walked over and said anything, the universe would break. The lights would go out. Something would snap. I know it’s stupid but I felt it, so I just stood there watching from across the room like some kind of creep.

If he’s there this weekend, I’m doing it. I’m going to walk over and introduce myself. I’m going to see what happens. And if the whole place goes dark the second I open my mouth, well. You’ll know who to blame.