He was sitting in front of Rumfish, where I'd come to see a friend. The Frenchman just happened to be there, an incidental player in scene 7-B, "I visit John." I didn't get his name.
He drank red wine out of a highball glass. His face was strangely familiar. Small dollop of hair on an otherwise smooth skull. Bone structure, the roundness of his nose. The blue-in-the-gills common to men of a certain age with five o'clock shadows. He turned his head, presenting profile. A near spitting image of an old friend, long not seen. Fallout from an ill-advised romance.
I blinked, wondering if it was my imagination. He remained a near doppelganger of my old friend. I wished briefly for a camera, but in the end was glad not to have it. Some images are best let pass.