at work, there is a new guy, seemingly older than i am, with almost the same last name as mine, save for an errant letter in the middle. he is mexican and i am a non-spanish speaking pacific islander. the few times we've bumped into each other, so far, i find in him—his walk, perhaps?—something very familiar which i have yet to fully denote in my mind. the poor guy does not know we share almost the same last name and he gives me this look as if i’m the resident perv in the building.
there is this anomaly inside siena’s cathedral, a library, of all things. when i went there, for this was one of the tourist traps our guide dropped us in our day trip to the city, sure the pinturicchio frescoes balled me over. but then, i stayed and ignored the selfie-crazed horde and instead, kept on honing in on a couple of pictures, most of them peopled with guys who did not look like me, dressed way more flamboyantly than i do, and yet, in all of their foibles—what six hundred, seven hundred years ago?—i knew them.