He walked quickly past the corner deli. They were making their Friday soup special, shell noodles with V8 juice. It was his favorite. He didn't know how they got the idea for it but he knew it was quite similar to the soup he ate as a kid. The soup was named "My Favorite Soup". When his friends came over to his house growing up, his mother would make the soup for dinner, serving his friends. He would insist that all his friends called it "My Favorite Soup" despite their actual preference in the hot stuff. He just liked the sound of it. "Hey, do you want some of My Favorite Soup?" I'd ask. "Sure, I'll have some of My Favorite Soup." Or if they hated it, he'd make them reply and they'd say "No! I hate My Favorite Soup!" He got a kick out of that one.
Today was the day he was going to meet himself. What a day! He couldn't wait to talk all about himself! Did he love the shell noodles with V8 juice just as much as he did? Did the smell of the savory combination of tomato, carrot, peppers, and assorted spices bring back the memories of building snow forts and coming home after riding a bicycle all day on dirt hills?Himself was waiting on the park bench. He was easy to spot with his dark beard and wavy hair. "Just like him." He though. "Uncanny."