I know that Jorge Luis Borges had his own way of interpretation of mirror, and mine is just another that I just came up with in the elevator, as follows:
I hate mirror. Seeing all those guys who look like me doing the same things as I do just irks me, as if they are thinking what I’m thinking. And when I look down on the floor, they laugh and sneer ’cause that’s what all winners do. I walk out the door, feeling a bit dizzy and humiliated, and leave them all behind to keep talking about their victory.
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