I felt unusual the moment we made eye contact. He stood out amongst the beleaguered people, those victimized by the desert summer, taking refuge in multigrain products. He had an amused smile as if the whole world were a private joke, too intricate to explain to anyone else. The joke had a logic that circumnavigated everything around him—the pita chips, the indie rock, the song of refrigerators.
This, I recognized, was the way I looked at the world myself. It was as if I were looking in a mirror.