What the who?

I love people watching, especially on a lazy Saturday afternoon. As I saunter through Famer’s Park I play out that ’ole game of filling in their lives with my own kooky ideas.

40-something scraggly looking male wearing a zipped up coat in the Florida heat; he’s hiding the fact that he’s {only} wearing the 2016 Spring Edition Victoria Secret Sultry Red Basque underneath. He doesn’t just feel seductive, he *knows* he is.

30-ish drop dead gorgeous blonde wearing an expensive looking workout ensemble; she’s a Physics major who is hell bent on becoming immortal by disproving the mathematical constant Pi. She thinks it’s 3.142.

5’8”-ish male, can’t see his face yet, long hair… oddly patchy whiskers… same exact clothes as I’m wearing, that’s odd... there are other people I could look at but I can’t seem to turn away from this person as he gets closer turning his head forward… oh it’s me.

“Wait, it’s me?!” I said out loud, or I should say we *both* said out loud.

Both raising our right arms in unison we point at each other, “what are you,” we asked each other at the same exact time following an identical tempo, cadence and pitch.

As we step closer to each other static is not only felt but visible between us, like tiny electrified spider webs where one end touches him and the other touches me. Even our hair seems to stand up on end in an invariable fashion.

My mind wrestles; we’re not moving as mirror images but copies of one another.

The current between us progresses to grow; the thickness of the energy field starts to hurt my eyes, a sudden flash…

I’m abruptly standing in an altogether white room. Over a crackly loud speaker I hear “uh… that wasn’t supposed to happen.”