small world.

A female friend from a long time ago once told me that she was in Atlanta--I don't know why, she's lived in various parts of the country for reasons she keeps to herself--and the friend she was staying with brought her to a party.

Well, my friend met this other woman, and they seemed to hit it off, and they moved off to a bedroom and started making out. My friend was a little surprised when one of the Indigo Girls (Amy Ray or Emily Saliers, I forget which) passed through the bedroom en route to the toilet.

The Indigo Girl glared at my friend. Who was apparently making out with the Indigo Girl's recently ex-girlfriend.

I wonder sometimes if my friends and I lead special sorts of lives, that are so interesting, all things considered; or if we just describe in terse language so as to make the description intriguing.