Free Coincidence by David Ambrose

crowds had thinned a little, the raucous music grown more distant. Back into
     the growing silence came the tantalizing doubts and fears that I knew would drive me to distraction before the weekend was
     through. Maybe the best thing I could do was call a friend and get some Prozac, or whatever the tranquilizer of choice was
     these days. Maybe I could just sleep most of the weekend.
    There was a bench in the corner of a winding, narrow path around which rocks and overhanging branches had created a kind of
     grotto. It was unoccupied and welcoming, a secret oasis in a public place. I sat down, hunched forward, elbows resting on
     my knees. I found myself playing with the three coins I’d used earlier to cast that last hexagram in the apartment. I realized
     I’d come out with no other money, but it didn’t matter; there was nothing I needed to buy so urgently that I didn’t have time
     to walk back to the apartment and collect my wallet—which is what I thought I probably would do, then go to a movie. Anything
     to occupy my brain and get me through the day.
    I continued to play with the coins, absently shaking, turning, and tipping them from hand to hand, until one slipped through
     my fingers and hit the ground with a sharp metallic clink. It landed on its edge and, before I could catch it, started to
     roll down the path to my left, the path I had climbed a few minutes earlier. Another man was coming up now. He stopped the
     coin with his foot, then bent to pick it up. He wore a soft felt hat and sunglasses. I thought there was something oddly familiar
     about his face when he looked up at me. Then he removed his hat and sunglasses.
    And I froze.
    My first thought was that it was like looking in a mirror, except the image wasn’t reversed. Nor was it identical except in
     the face and general build. He wore well-cut jeans and a good jacket in contrast to my sweater, old cords, and scuffed loafers.
    Gradually I became aware that our confrontation came as no surprise to him. In fact he was watching my confusion with amusement,
     even enjoying it. He took the last few steps up the path and stood before me, holding out the coin I had dropped. I accepted
     it automatically without taking my eyes off his face.
    “Who the hell are you?” I managed to demand, once I’d remembered to shut my mouth before trying to speak.
    “I’m Larry Hart,” he said. “Hadn’t you guessed?”
    I stared at him. I could think of nothing to say, yet everything I could think of was spinning through my mind.
    “I know how you feel,” he said. “I’ve been watching you for the past ten minutes. It’s weird seeing yourself, isn’t it?”
    “Where the hell did you come from?”
    He smiled. “It’s a long story.”
    I felt a sudden suspicion, and asked him, “Did you have anything to do with that letter I got this morning?”
    He nodded with, I thought, a hint of apology. “It was rather infantile, I agree. But any way I sprang this thing on you was
     going to be a shock. At least this way you had some warning.”
    I toyed with a
variety
of nonconciliatory answers, but in the end let my indignation drop. It seemed a petty thing in the face of the discovery
     I found myself on the verge of making.
    “Why don’t you just tell me about this from wherever it starts?” I said.

Chapter 12
    H e put his hat and sunglasses back on. As we walked, no one gave us a second glance. Whether it was his intention to disguise
     himself I didn’t know and didn’t ask; I was, however, glad to be spared the idly curious stares that we might have otherwise
     attracted as such obvious twins.
    “The day before yesterday,” he said, “Thursday, I’m walking across town minding my own business, when suddenly I hear this
     woman’s voice saying, ‘What a coincidence, Mr. Daly. I was just about to call you.’ Naturally I don’t pay any attention because
     I’m not Mr. Daly, and whoever the woman was couldn’t possibly have been talking to me.