My shirt buddy spots me before I can spot him.
I am walking around the park. He’s laying on a picnic blanket with a woman who looks to be a special lady friend.
We both wear matching faded red Coca-Cola t-shirts. He tugs at his collar, holding it from his chest to alert me to the match. He lets go only after I’ve mirrored his signal.
On subsequent laps, we nod.
On my final lap, I consider the sartorial consequences of our meeting: he has finally proven to her that “other people really do wear that shirt out in public.”