He wasn't unattractive or poorly dressed, really, but sported a head full of styled knots, of the type only suitable in African American hair, that were somehow incongruous with his navy blue, ironed golf shirt, cotton dockers, and too-white sneakers.

We were at the next table, having our usual post-church lunch at a favorite cafe, but our conversation had dropped into nothingness, as happens sometimes when you've been married forever, and are more focussed on eating than enterainment. I think if we'd been talking we might not have noticed him.

He was alone, technically, though you'd never have guessed it from listening, for he was having an animated conversation, complete with tonal changes signifying both questions and answers, though, only his half was audible.

No, he wasn't on a cell phone.

Like Anne Shirley's “window friend,” this man's lunch companion was his own reflection in the tinted glass that faced the parking lot.

We were slightly creeped out, but he seemed happy enough, really.

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