I’m currently at a motorcycle cafe. I just sat my butt down 20 minutes ago. The music is good (90s rock, punk and such). There are motorcycles for sale inside, parked next to the tables, shelves with helmets, and other riding gear hanging from hooks. I’m enjoying a good cup of almond milk cappuccino.

Some version of me in an alternative dimension owns a motorcycle. Probably a Suzuki or a Kawasaki, maybe a Ducati (my this-dimension self doesn’t know much about motorcycles). He-me went on a couple of roadtrips earlier in life, but nothing in the last couple of years. He’s reflecting on some of those moments right now, sipping coffee.

Like me, he read Zen and That Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but earlier in life, and got interested in motorcycles enough to get one. I started my career with computers around the same time. He had different jobs in different locations for a while and eventually settled working at a cafe in a small town like this one. His organizational skills and trustworthiness worked in his favor to eventually manage the cafe, with the owners' blessing. He probably got involved with one of the regular customers or maybe even one of the younger baristas, but only that far. He-me are not monogamous, and even if he got comfortable for a time, it was probably more of a temporary arrangement.

Some of the emotional energy can pass between dimensions. Deja-Vus that are not mine, memories of scents I’m not sure I smelled before, faces of people that I’ve seen before and can’t place.

Two dirt bikes are parked inside a store, surrounded by tools and posters on the wall.A motorcycle shop features bikes, clothing, and gear arranged neatly, with bright lighting illuminating the space.Motorcycle racing suits are hanging on a wall above a table at a cafe with a laptop and chairs in a room with metal ductwork.