Man in a Mirror

I sat and he sat. I alone at my table, he alone at the next, facing me in a near-empty place.  My food comes, then his, then both our numbers go. I raise my head from prayer, his is bowed, soon rising with a likewise sign of the cross. His head bends to his phone, mine to my book.

Who is this man in the mirror, out in Tallassee, Alabama?

From my eye's peripheries, I see clothes that could be mine. A ruddy face, thinning and buzzed hair, black-stubbled jaw. I dare not look up at the face before me; neither he. Is our food the same also, except his fried? I finish first. I stand and my eyes meet his, sky-blue. I nod and he nods. I leave.

My eye catches a last look: his eye catching a last look.