I was walking down the sidewalk and happened to glance at my reflection in your car window.  I was checking out your interior leather, when by chance I caught a glimpse of my breathtaking countenance.  I could not look away.  Behold my jawline as I tilt my head just so!  My hair is blowing lazily in the wind.  How come it never looks like this in my bathroom mirror?  I wish all images of myself could be filtered through the delicate and flattering gaze of a passenger-side window.  From now on, all my films will include at least four extended shots of my exquisite car-window reflection.  I wonder if my agent could make that retroactive?  Good luck editing a Toyota Camry into Sleepy Hollow...
 
I am also partial to my elegant visage when mirrored off the black marble base of a Manhattan skyscaper as I walk by. Of course, it was never my intention to settle my measured gaze upon the cryptic yet timeless comportment of my Greek frame, reflected in the polished stone...I was just examining a crack. But once my stare is fixed, it cannot be unfixed.  One so infrequently gets to take account of one's entire constitution.  Is that really me?  Am I already so old?  Where have the years gone? 

The spectre before me should be that of a smiling child, not a weathered old man whose cragged face tells the story of a thousand sins.  It makes me yearn for my dressing room tri-mirror set, angled towards one another so as to produce an infinite regression of reflected images, teasing me to the point where I think: if I can just look a little deeper, maybe I can catch a glimpse of my past.

[Image courtesy of flickr user anirvan]