My Doppelganger and I
by Andrew Bertaina

I met my doppelgänger at the Durán Barista, a small coffee shop of white stone, in the city of Granada, along the Andalusian coast of Spain. He wore a tweed coat with ostentatious patches on the arms and a pair of grey slacks. He arrived in the shop just after me, overheated but at ease. I’d been at the shop a half-hour after spending the morning strolling down the path that wound through the old caves of the Albacín, where I’d paused, and rubbed the slender necks of the stray cats, purring as motors, and took pictures of the distant Alhambra—stone towers and orange bricks against the backdrop of a milky white-hot sky.