A pair of twins boarded my train at Embarcadero. Male, looked to be in their thirties somewhere. Identical in almost every way, except for their blue and gray jackets, which were only similar, not the same. They each wore navy blue sweat pants, and had a small fanny pack clipped around their big bellies. They wore their hair the same; stringy and greasy with matching unkempt, black beards. They had the same dull eyes and dirty fingers.

They sat beside each other and did not interact. At least, not that anyone else could see. Both of them fidgeted constantly. Picked at their own fingers and faces, rubbed their noses and eyes. The one on the outer seat fished around in his fanny pack and pulled out two five dollar bills. He thumbed through the money slowly, as if to count it. They didn’t even look at each other.

The train came to a stop on Duboce at Church. The car was flooded with sunlight. The twins got up as one, identical expressions on their faces. I had the odd sense that they were one being, that they were conjoined, only the tether was invisible. They took the steps down to the ground and walked side by side, stride for stride, and turned right on Fillmore before disappearing from view.