My Friend, Cole Porter

I saw my friend again today. I don't know his name, but he looks like an American composer from the 1940's, so I've nicknamed him Cole Porter. We pass each other on the street most mornings. For a year, I noticed him because of his slightly oversized jacket draped over his rounded shoulders and imagined he was on his way to his studio to compose a musical. It never occurred to me that he might be observing me as well, until the day he said "Good morning," to me as I passed by. I wonder what name, if any, he's given me. Over the past two years, we have greeted each other with smiles, remarks about the weather and the occasional health enquiry. This morning, the friendly exchange was "Happy New Year!" I don't know if I'll ever find out his name. I don't think I want to know. To me, he is my friend, Cole Porter.