DUO

They’re twins, which means you’ve got to take for granted that they’re exactly, unimaginably identical, have the same metabolism (more or less), same fitness levels, identical workout programs, same stamina, sustenance, the same number of muscles in the same configuration, and the same amount of bones of course. Spouses (girlfriends included) are numb to individual scents, character in general and penis sizes. One of them could have bigger feet, but that wouldn’t stop the other from wearing the same pair of shoes (or an identical pair if required, equally wrinkled, equally smooth).

A higher count doesn’t imply a sequel, and it’s past midnight.

“One hour”, he said pointedly.

“Lydia-”

“Lydia?”

He stopped, dead. “Don’t tell me-”

“It’s Friday.”

Twin One stood outside the park which Twin two had to cut across (to save time). Walk transfer from green to grey, footsteps muffled by the motorway. Secrecy doesn’t imply quiet, for not all the loudness is heard. Except mutually, of course.

“She was surprised.”

“I said I had work.”

“No wonder then-”

Two men identical in all aspects, but it’s not a paparazzi world to stand up and make proofs. And they just walked along.

“And yeah”, Twin One said, hands in pockets, “Tara-”

“I’ll deal with it”, came the response, although grave.

“You know I’ll miss her too”, he replied. “And not to mention Her-”

“-quirk in colour-tones?”

“-bie Hancock.”

Curious look on the face, unfettered look to the ground observed.

“What made your day?”

“Ammo hunt”, he replied. “Wild goose chase, what made yours?”

“Breaking and Entering, busted stuff, frenzies”, he sulked. “Got it all?”

He nodded. “Loudest yet: My place.”

“You mean my place?”

They paused for a while, switching positions. “Yeah, your place.”

“Good”, they said together, looking down.

Distant looks don’t always suggest pensive thought. Face-to-face could sometimes mean unconscious spontaneity.

“The organization...”

“The thrill...”

“Life’s good”, he said and looked at his brother. “You’re good.”

“No”, came the reply. “We’re good.”

Roads diverged, both taken. ‘He’ took the one ‘he’ took before, and ‘he’ took the one which ‘he’ came from, pats on the back past.

“Mind the sniffer!” he shouted. “We smell.”

“And Suzanna!” he shouted back, stopping. “Smells good!”

He smiled, he smiled, and they both left. One to the right, and one to the left of his left.