It's a small, small, small, small town.

Just back from a holiday party at down the street. The hostess was a young woman who had come to my place last month when I was looking for a roommate—but had found a place of her own. I knew no one else at the party. But one guy turned out to be living in the apartment I’d inhabited four years ago. He thanked me for the improvements I’d made (e.g., under-counter lighting in the kitchen) and noted that the cable TV is still turned on, free. Another fellow turned out to be the ex of a long-ago roommate (and, briefly, love affair). That was fascinating—we compared notes about how we’d each been written into her novel. The hostess’s cat, Boomer, is a celebrity, having been on the Friskies Cat Food box in his younger day. The hostess herself is a bit of an enigma, which is always refreshing. It was a good party.