Rubber Band Man

I was enjoying my morning coffee in my morning coffeeshop. “Mind if I join you?” He gestured at an empty seat, and before I could say yes, I mind, he sat. Completely unremarkable, except for a razor-bright smile of ruler-straight white teeth.

“Have you ever rolled rubber bands,” he asked.

I should have said nothing. I said, “What?”

“You roll a rubber band between your fingers,” he said. He produced a rubber band and demonstrated. “Halfway, and it’s inside out. A full roll, and it’s exactly the same as it was before. The rubber band’s own infinity.”

“Uh,” I said.

He leaned forward. “It’s not just rubber bands,” he whispered. “Everything has its own infinity, and its own half roll, where it’s something different.” He leaned back. “What would you do if you saw that was true?”

“Probably,” I said, standing to leave, “Walk the other way.”


The next day, I was enjoying my morning coffee in my morning coffeeshop when I saw her. Completely unremarkable except for a too-bright smile of too-straight teeth.

And I did. I got up and left, and never saw that smile again. But I never stopped looking, just in case.