You put your twin sister on like a coat. Outside, the streets run hot and cold, neighborhood by neighborhood. Everyone’s in a hurry. Your twin’s legs seem to gallop along with yours, quicken your pace. For once you feel you can keep up with the hustle.

You pass a guard leaning against a tree. He instantly stands sentinel, frowns, asks for ID. You tell him you have something better. You fish around in your pockets, find a pack of extra twins, pull one from its foil wrapping like a stick of Doublemint gum, hand it to him. He cradles it like a newborn son. With your twin around you, you, too, feel like you’ve been given a new life.

You step onto a bus and the driver questions whether you need more than one ticket, tells you the price for two, expects you to pay it. Your twin’s head flops at your back like an unused hood, eyes focused on how she got here. The world is upside down, but it seems right to you. People behind you huff with impatience. You hold your ground for once, insist you’ll use only one seat. You find an open space five rows back, slide your twin off and fold her neatly on your lap, smile nicely at the person next to you even though he won’t stop staring.

Twenty minutes later, you’re back on the street, your twin tied around you like a cloak, her arms wrapped comfortably around your neck, covering your heart, creating just enough heat. Wind whips between you two, pushes you apart and gives your twin enough lift to fly away. She digs her fingers into your flesh deep enough to let you know that you could lose her.

You duck into a coffee shop, even though you might be late for work. Order a double shot of espresso. Snag a booth while you wait for it, take off your twin and, in a fleeting moment you wish you could undo, forget she’s your sister and toss her on the bench as if she were a jacket. She slips to the floor into a heap just as your name is called. You choose your coffee first. At the counter, your phone springs to life—da dum, da dum, da dum. People around you giggle as the theme from JAWS plays from your bag, but you turn a little pale at the tone you set for your boss. He’s already yelling about deadlines and your whereabouts when you answer. You grab your double shot and hurry out the door.

At noon, you’re finally able to break free from your desk, the project, the pressure. You remember your sister, your twin, your thoughtlessness. You run to her, but she’s gone. Gone from the coffee shop, gone from your home, gone from your life. Gone.

You dig for that pack of extra twins again, but none fits quite the same. A chill sinks into your bones no coat will ever warm.